c 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

^  """V"*  <"*  7"^  f-  >"\       1  "1"    *1  V\  fS  CS  /*i "?  " 

I'JJ.   p  •         I  IJ  •        jJw... 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 


SECOND  EDITION 


"THIS  ISN'T  THIS  PARTY'S  KIRST  EXPERIENCE  IN  BLACKMAIL," 
KERN  DECLARED 

Page  S5 


BY 

GEORGE  L.  KNAPP 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    IN    COLOR    BY 

THE  KINNEYS 


PHILADELPHIA    &    LONDON 
J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1910 


Printed  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 
The  Washington  Square  Press,  Philadelphia,  U.  S.  A. 


3S2I 


/ 


TO  MY  WIFE 


-L.  'V-- 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"This  isn't  this   party's  first  experience  in  blackmail," 
Kern  declared Frontispiece 

"  That's  right.    He's  put  his  mark  on  one  of  'em  all  right  "      32 

Mrs.  Greenway   stood   looking   wrathfully    down  at  the 

reporter 218 


THE 
SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 


CHAPTER  I 

Hope  is  stronger  than  experience.  The  farmer  never 
raises  a  good  crop  from  the  outside  row  of  corn;  but  he 
keeps  on  planting  an  outside  row,  just  the  same. 

ARTHUR  KERN  sat  in  one  of  the  front 
rooms  of  the  Star  office,  snipping  strips  of 
paper  with  a  huge  pair  of  shears.  His  feet 
were  on  his  desk,  after  the  comfortable  cus 
tom  of  idle  male  humanity;  and  his  manner 
combined  with  the  litter  of  paper  on  the  floor 
and  the  purple  stains  on  his  fingers  to  show 
that  his  day's  work  was  done.  It  was  a  good 
day's  work,  too.  He  smiled  rather  grimly  as 
he  thought  of  it;  smiled  yet  more  grimly 
as  the  sound  of  voices  raised  in  anger  floated 
in  from  the  managing  editor's  room  next 
door.  For  the  "story"  Kern  had  written 
that  day  was  the  true  tale  of  the  theft  of 
a  street  car  franchise  by  means  of  the  votes 
of  manufactured  ' '  taxpayers ' ' ;  and  the  high 
pitched  voice  in  the  next  room  was  that  of 
the  tramway  president,  who  had  come  to  see 


THE   SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

if  he  could  stop  the  publication  of  this  bit  of 
financial  history.  To  judge  from  the  few 
remarks  that  came  through  the  partition,  the 
big  boss  was  not  succeeding  very  well. 

Once,  the  voices  seemed  to  promise  imme 
diate  violence;  and  dropping  the  shears,  Kern 
slipped  with  the  noiseless  speed  of  the  natural 
athlete  to  the  door  of  the  room  where  the 
altercation  was  in  progress.  The  threat 
passed,  however;  and  the  reporter  laughed 
a  bit  as  he  resumed  his  seat  and  his  paper 
cutting.  He  knew  the  reason  for  this  un 
usual  rage.  The  Star  had  secured  the  note 
book  carried  by  the  tramway  company's  chief 
"fixer"  in  that  franchise  campaign.  He  was 
a  careful  man,  that  fixer ;  he  had  kept  exact 
account  of  all  moneys  disbursed,  and  of  who 
got  them.  The  thought  of  those  accounts  be 
ing  published  in  the  Star — with  facsimiles  of 
the  original  entries — was  not  calculated  to 
soothe  the  temper  of  the  chief  beneficiary  of 
that  franchise  theft.  The  high  pitched  voice 
took  a  tone  that  seemed  meant  to  be  persua 
sive.  In  the  expectant  pause  that  followed, 
Kern  could  catch  the  mellow  laugh  of  the 
managing  editor;  and  then  came  an  explo 
sion  of  wrath  from  the  big  boss  which 
seemed  to  mark  the  end  of  the  interview. 

8 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

A  door  slammed,  and  heavy  footsteps  went 
by  Kern's  room  on  the  way  to  the  stairs. 
A  moment  later,  the  door  opened,  and  Jen 
nings,  the  managing  editor  came  in.  He  was 
grinning  like  a  small  boy  with  a  big  red 
apple,  and  wagged  his  head  mirthfully  as 
Kern  looked  up.  " Gimme  a  match!  "  said 
he.  Kern  supplied  the  match  without  speak 
ing.  Jennings  struck  the  light,  sat  down, 
laughed;  and  then  suddenly  sobered  as  he 
took  the  cigar  from  his  lips. 

"Son,"  he  said,  "she  goes.  She  goes  just 
as  she's  written.  And  I'm  betting  something 
that  Bill  Harteley  will  think  several  times 
before  he  tries  to  run  a  bluff  in  this  office 
again.'* 

"He  had  his  nerve  with  him  to  try  it  this 
time,"  said  Kern.  The  sound  of  a  starting 
motor  came  up  through  the  windows.  '  *  Now 
he'll  chase  down  to  the  Herald  and  try  to 
get  some  dope  in  to  spoil  our  story." 

"It's  so  good  he  can't  spoil  it,"  said  the 
managing  editor.  "If  it  hadn't  been,  I 
wouldn't  have  sent  you  to  get  the  old  boy's 
statement  to-day.  The  Herald  will  really 
tell  just  enough  about  the  thing  to  sell  an 
extra  lot  of  our  papers  for  us.  This  is  one 
place,  my  son,  where  we  score." 

9 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  wish  I  had  your  sweet  young  enthusi 
asm,  ' '  said  Kern.  He  was  six  or  seven  years 
the  junior  of  the  managing  editor.  "I 
thought  you  were  going  to  mix  things  there 
for  a  while." 

Jennings  laughed  again.  * '  We  would  have 
mixed  if  Landis  hadn't  got  between,"  he 
said.  " Tramway  Bill  was  out  for  gore." 

"What  does  Landis  want  to  do  with  it 
anyhow ? ' '  asked  Kern.  ' '  He 's  never  been  in 
on  any  of  Harteley's  dirty  jobs;  what  does 
he  want  to  help  the  old  scamp  out  of  the 
hole  for?  He's  getting  the  name  without 
playing  the  game." 

"It's  a  personal  matter,"  explained  the 
managing  editor.  "Landis  was  attorney  for 
Mrs. Harteley's  family  before  she  married  the 
old  sinner.  Whenever  Harteley  happens  to 
have  a  bit  of  clean  business  on  hand,  or  when 
he  gets  in  the  hole,  he  turns  to  Landis.  If 
that  nice  old  boy  would  put  his  conscience 
in  his  pocket,  he'd  be  making  a  hundred 
thousand  a  year." 

"What  a  lost  opportunity!"  murmured 
Kern. 

"You  bet!"  laughed  the  managing  editor. 
"Come  on  and  have  some  lunch  before  you 

go  home. ' ' 

10 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Kern  tossed  the  shears  into  a  drawer,  and 
stood  up.  He  was  as  tall  as  the  other  man, 
and  as  straight;  and  both  had  that  look  of 
alert  expectancy,  quite  unmixed  with  either 
wonder  or  nervousness,  which  marks  our  best 
newspaper  men.  There  the  resemblance 
ended.  Jennings  was  about  thirty-five; 
smooth- shaven,  smiling,  brown  of  hair  and 

• 

blue  of  eye;  with  humorous  little  wrinkles 
around  the  eyes  to  testify  of  the  many  funny 
things  he  had  seen.  Kern  was  twenty-eight 
or  twenty-nine;  and  his  coal-black  hair  and 
bronze-black  vandyke  beard  made  him  look 
more  like  an  Austrian  surgeon  than  an 
American  reporter.  His  humor  was  apt  to 
be  sardonic ;  and  a  certain  element  of  moodi- 
ness  was  seldom  absent  from  his  face.  "Kern 
is  really  a  secret  sufferer  from  the  artistic 
temperament,"  said  the  managing  editor 
once,  "but  so  long  as  he's  trying  to  live  it 
down,  I  won't  give  him  away." 

"What  a  masterful,  tyrannical  old  brute 
Harteley  is,"  said  Kern  as  they  headed  for 
the  stairs. 

His  companion  nodded.  "I  can  remember 
when  he  wasn't  so  masterful.  That  was  two 
or  three  years  before  you  came  here.  Harte 
ley  had  tried  to  get  control  of  the  old  gas 

11 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

company — had  it,  I  guess — and  then  the  new 
company  came  in  and  started  to  run  him 
out.  They  came  mighty  near  doing  it,  too." 

"Pity  they  didn't." 

"My  sentiments  exactly,"  said  the  manag 
ing  editor.  "But  instead  of  helping  to  get 
him,  we  were  playing  his  end  of  the  game." 

"Why?"  asked  Kern,  as  if  the  question 
had  occurred  to  him  before. 

1 1  Oh,  you  know  how  the  old  man  is ;  always 
helping  the  under  dog.  If  the  under  dog 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  killing  the  old  man's 
sheep,  that's  only  another  reason  for  helping 
him.  But  they  sure  came  within  an  ace  of 
hanging  Harteley's  hide  on  the  fence,  that 
trip." 

The  two  men  had  been  walking  down  a 
side  street  toward  the  restaurant  as  they 
talked.  The  hour  was  near  midnight.  As 
they  stopped  in  front  of  the  restaurant  a 
couple  of  figures  emerged  from  the  alley 
thirty  yards  farther  on  and  looked  furtively 
around,  crossed  the  street,  and  disappeared 
around  the  next  corner  in  the  direction  of 
the  Bad  Lands.  One  was  a  man  of  medium 
height,  with  peculiarly  heavy  shoulders ;  the 
other  was  a  slim,  boyish  looking  chap.  Kern 
stared  after  them,  ignoring,  and  then  inter- 

12 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

rupting  the  editor's  story  of  the  interview 
with  Harteley. 

1 '  Hunh ! ' '  said  Kern,  slowly.  *  *  If  I  were  on 
the  police  force,  I  wouldn't  look  very  far  for 
the  man  that  pulled  off  those  second-story 
jobs  last  evening.  That  big-shouldered  cuss 
is  Red  Heinze,  and  he's  got  some  poor  re 
form  school  imp  with  him  as  lookout." 

"Know  the  kid?"  asked  Jennings. 

"Couldn't  see  his  face,"  said  Kern.  "I've 
a  notion  to  phone  Mike  about  Bed,  though." 

"Let  Mike  do  his  own  detective  work," 
said  the  managing  editor.  "He'd  find  some 
way  to  throw  you  down  if  you  did  put  him 
wise.  Come  on  and  eat." 


CHAPTER  II 

No  man  ever  shouldered  a  musket  in  defense  of  a  board 
ing  house.  The  boarding  house  table  affords  so  fine  a 
chance  to  settle  all  things  by  talking  that  no  sane  man  would 
appeal  to  the  harsher  method  of  battle. 

MRS.  WELTON'S  boarding  house  was  not 
named  in  the  list  of  the  city's  fashionable 
hostelries ;  and  partly  for  that  very  reason, 
it  was  a  satisfactory  abiding  place  for  Kern. 
It  had  the  double  advantage  of  being  on  a 
good  car  line  and  within  walking  distance  of 
the  business  section;  and  it  gave  as  good 
an  imitation  of  home  cooking  as  a  boarding 
house  will  achieve  this  side  of  the  millenium. 
One  could  get  a  reasonably  late  breakfast 
there  without  exciting  remarks  on  the 
wretched  and  down-trodden  lot  of  cooks  and 
housekeepers.  Since  Kern's  promotion  to 
the  rank  of  star  reporter — pun  unintentional 
— he  was  enabled  to  keep  more  civilized  hours 
at  night  than  his  less  fortunate  colleagues, 
but  late  breakfasts  were  still  a  temptation. 

And  Mrs.  Welton  had  a  group  of  patrons 
well  worth  meeting.  As  table-boarders,  there 
were  the  Colvins,  man  and  wife,  who  were 
thus  trying  to  escape  the  servant  girl  prob- 

14 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

lem.  Mrs.  Colvin  was  president  of  the  state 
federation  of  women's  clubs,  and  an  author 
—she  flatly  refused  to  answer  to  the  name 
of  authoress — of  considerable  repute  among 
those  interested  in  the  problems  of  city  life. 
Mr.  Colvin  was  most  famous  for  being  his 
wife's  husband,  but  he  had  a  solid  sense  and 
dignity  that  made  him  worth  while  for  his 
own  sake.  There  was  Gene  Gray,  novelist 
and  socialist,  who  wrote  lurid  panoramas  of 
the  wrath  to  come,  and  of  the  peace  passing 
understanding  which  would  follow  human 
ity's  adjustment  to  the  "economic  law." 
Himself  one  of  the  gentlest  and  most  honor 
able  of  men,  he  was  the  ardent  defender  of 
the  clique  which  controlled  the  Brotherhood 
of  the  Industrial  Revolution;  a  group  of 
rascals  who  deliberately  played  on  Gene's 
innocence,  and  who  earned  on  the  average  a 
hanging  apiece,  ten  times  a  year.  There  was 
the  Reverend  J.  Martyn  Bramley,  spending 
in  this  wise  a  year  of  bachelorhood  while  his 
wife  and  children  were  in  England.  The 
Reverend  Bramley 's  brain  was  stocked  with 
a  choice  collection  of  medievalisms ;  and  as 
it  was  much  too  small  a  brain  to  admit  any 
disturbing  modern  ideas,  the  little  clergyman 
was  excellently  contented  with  himself.  He 

15 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

had  a  cockney  accent  that  you  could  cut  with 
a  knife,  he  considered  republicanism  an  in 
vention  of  the  devil,  and  he  held  that  next  to 
our  lack  of  a  monarch  and  an  hereditary 
aristocracy,  the  selling  of  goods  on  the  instal 
ment  plan  was  the  chief  cause  of  American 
woes.  There  was  Whiteman,  of  the  prison 
reform  association,  an  occasional  diner  at  the 
Welton  table,  and  always  a  welcome  one; 
there  was  a  more  or  less  rising  young  violin 
ist,  and  a  high  school  principal,  and  one  or 
two  others  of  similar  standing  and  interest. 

It  was  Sunday,  when  Mrs.  Welton  served 
dinner  at  one  o  'clock ;  and  her  boarders  were 
gathered  at  the  two  tables  in  the  dining-room. 
Kern  was  looking  somewhat  drawn  and  hag 
gard — a  circumstance  for  which  the  paper 
furnished  ample  explanation.  For  his  story 
of  the  franchise  steal  covered  most  of  the 
first  page  of  the  " great  Sunday  Star," 
jumped  to  the  third  page  with  a  generous 
assortment  of  illustrations;  and  there  were 
grounds  for  believing  that  he  had  written  the 
leading  editorial  as  well.  Just  now,  he  was 
deep  in  a  discussion  of  the  parole  system, 
with  Whiteman. 

1 ' Well,"  began  Mr.  Colvin,  "I  see  you're 
after  Brother  Harteley  roughshod  this  morn 


ing." 


16 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Sure,"  said  Kern,  who  knew  without 
looking  up  that  he  was  the  one  addressed. 
"There's  no  closed  season  on  millionaires 
these  days." 

"The  Herald  says  it's  a  case  of  blackmail," 
said  Gray,  mischievously.  He  professed  to 
despise  the  "capitalist  press,"  but  he  read 
it  religiously. 

"If  it  were  blackmail,  it  wouldn't  have 
been  printed,"  countered  Mrs.  Colvin.  Kern 
nodded  his  thanks,  and  added: 

"Harteley  was  up  at  the  office  last  night, 
fairly  pawing  the  air.  I  haven't  a  doubt  he'd 
have  paid  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  to 
head  off  that  thing.  Ho  offered  me  quite  a 
bunch  when  I  saw  him  in  the  afternoon." 

"Were  you  foolish  enough  to  decline?" 
asked  Gray. 

"Not  foolish,  just  unfortunate,"  amended 
Kern.  "The  story  was  already  in  the  office, 
and  a  poor  reporter  couldn't  have  stopped  it. 
But  this  blackmail  talk  is  all  rot.  The  man 
who  owns  the  Star  isn't  for  sale,  and  every 
body  but  the  Herald  knows  it." 

"That's  true,"  assented  Gray,  dropping 
his  bantering  tone.  The  Rev.  Bramley  struck 
into  the  conversation  with  a  big,  booming 
voice,  oddly  in  contrast  to  his  small  body. 

2  17 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  consider  that  you  are  very  unkind  to 
Mr.  Harteley.  He  is  not  so  spiritually  minded 
as  I  could  wish,  but  he  is  a  very  charitable 
gentleman.  He  always  makes  a  substantial 
donation  to  the  poor  at  Christmas,  and  he 
gave  a  thousand  dollars  toward  purchasing 
our  new  chimes.  I  cannot  understand  how  a 
country  can  prosper  in  which  men  of  his 
position  and  character  are  obliged  to  suffer 
such  attacks." 

"Harteley  doesn't  understand  it,  either," 
retorted  Kern.  "He  told  me  so  yesterday, 
only  he  was  more  emphatic  about  it  than 
you  are.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Bramley,  how 
many  voters  are  there  in  your  congrega 
tion  ?" 

"Voters?"  said  the  little  minister.  "I  do 
not  know.  I  pay  no  attention  to  the  false 
politics  of  this  country." 

"So  I've  observed.  Well,  I  looked  up  the 
matter  last  spring,  just  after  the  election; 
and  your  church  cast  a  little  over  200  votes. 
We  got  42  of  them.  Say  there  were  half  as 
many  again  who  vote  for  franchise  steals  on 
general  principles.  That  leaves  about  100 
members  of  your  church  who  helped  Mr. 
Harteley 's  schemes  because  he  is  such  a 
charitable  gentleman.  He  paid  one  thousand 

18 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

dollars  to  give  them  that  impression,  which 
brings  the  price  to  ten  dollars  per  vote. 
You're  cheap,  Bramley.  They  were  paying 
twenty  dollars  a  vote  in  the  open  market  that 
election. ' ' 

''Sir!"  cried  Mr.  Bramley,  while  a  laugh 
went  round  the  table.  Mr.  Colvin  struck  in 
to  avert  a  quarrel,  a  very  common  function 
of  his.  "I  notice  that  Harteley  gets  his  fran 
chises,  just  the  same  as  if  you  weren't  kick 
ing." 

"No!"  put  in  Kern  and  Whiteman  to 
gether.  "After  you,"  smiled  Kern,  and  the 
prison- reform  enthusiast  went  on:  "He  gets 
franchises,  but  he  doesn't  get  'em  the  same. 
He  wanted  a  perpetual  blanket  franchise, 
with  restricted  transfers,  and  nothing  to  pay ; 
and  he  has  told  me  several  times  that  the 
Star  was  all  that  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
getting  it." 

"While  now,"  added  Kern,  "he  gets  a 
twenty  year  franchise,  on  named  streets, 
with  universal  transfers,  and  pays  fifty 
thousand  dollars  a  year  to  the  city.  Quite  a 
difference,  and  it's  due  to  one  yellow  journal." 

"Isn't  it  rather  due  to  the  growth  of  pub 
lic  intelligence?"  queried  Colvin. 

"The  public  hasn't  any  intelligence." 

19 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"As  one  whose  life  is  spent  in  instructing 
the  public,  you  ought  to  know,"  laughed 
Gray.  Kern  acknowledged  the  thrust  with  a 
grin.  Mrs.  Colvin  found  the  chance  to  put 
the  question  that  had  been  for  minutes  at  the 
end  of  her  tongue : 

"How  does  it  come  you  don't  publish  any 
of  the  sums  paid  to  the  police?  Surely  Mike 
Kennedy  and  that  unspeakable  Billy  Brown 
weren't  working  for  nothing." 

"We've  only  got  Watte  r son's  notebook," 
explained  Kern.  "We  don't  know  anything 
about  the  men  who  were  paid  by  the  other 
tramway  agents.  Mike  and  Billy  probably 
dealt  directly  with  the  charitable  Mr.  Harte- 
ley.  I'll  bet  they  got  more  than  a  thousand 
dollars  out  of  it,  too." 

"And  even  the  mayor  was  in  it,  unless  your 
notebook  is  wrong,"  added  Mr.  Colvin 
thoughtfully.  "What  a  farce  our  city  govern 
ment  is!" 

"To  be  sure  it  is,"  declared  Mr.  Bramley. 
"Good  government  demands  obedience,  and 
contentment  in  the  station  to  which  one  is 
called.  You  can't  hope  to  have  order  in  a 
country  where  everyone  is  free  to  abuse 
those  set  over  him." 

"By  a  special  providence  named  the  tram 
way,  ' '  cut  in  Gray.  Bramley  went  on : 

20 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"We  have  none  of  these  troubles  in  Eng 
land.  Why,  when  I  was  back  there  the  last 
time,  some  of  my  friends  who  had  been  read 
ing  the  American  news  asked  me  what  this 
word  'graft'  meant." 

"If  you  had  remembered  that  incident  of 
the  chimes,  you  could  have  explained  it  to 
them  nicely,"  smiled  Kern.  "Did  you  know 
'  he  addressed  the  table  at  large  while 
Bramley  glared  and  spluttered — "Did  you 
know  that  the  shooting  charge  against  Billy 
Brown  was  dismissed  the  other  day?" 

"The  election  day  scrape?"  asked  Gray. 
Kern  nodded.  Mr.  Colvin  spoke  with  more 
heat  than  he  had  yet  shown: 

"That  fellow  is  a  disgrace  to  the  city. 
Why  on  earth  doesn't  the  mayor  get  rid  of 
him?" 

"Can't  spare  him,"  explained  Kern. 
"Mike  Kennedy  and  Billy  Brown  stole  the 
votes  that  put  the  mayor  in  office.  Billy  cast 
seven  hundred  and  nineteen  straight  ballots 
that  election  in  a  precinct  that  never  con 
tained  a  hundred  legal  voters.  Talent  like 
that  can't  be  turned  adrift  because  of  a 
trifling  dispute  about  an  attempted  murder." 

"Billy   and   Mike   helped    the   franchises 

through,  too,"  said  Gray.    "Remember  how 

21 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Billy  beat  our  good  socialist  preacher  over 
the  head  with  a  revolver?" 

"Pinkney  was  in  luck  that  it  was  only  a 
beating,"  declared  Kern.  "I  was  at  the  sta 
tion  when  they  brought  him  in.  He  was  a 
sight." 

''How  in  the  world  does  a  man  of  your 
sentiments  manage  to  work  with  those  fel 
lows?"  asked  Mrs.  Colvin  of  Whiteman.  The 
humane  agent  shook  his  head: 

"I'll  work  with  anybody,"  he  answered. 
' 1 1  'm  not  a  reformer,  I  'm  not  trying  to  change 
the  world — I'd  like  to,  but  the  job  is  too  big 
for  me.  I'm  just  trying  to  make  things 
easier  for  some  poor  devils  while  the  world 
stays  as  it  is.  Billy  and  Mike  let  me  do  about 
as  I  please,  and  I  keep  still  about  them.  It's 
compounding  a  felony,  sometimes,  but  I  let 
it  go  at  that." 

"I  can  stand  Mike,"  said  Mr.  Colvin. 
"He  is  a  good  police  chief,  he  keeps  the  city 
free  from  crime.  But  I  haven't  any  use  for 
Billy." 

"You're  mistaken  if  you  think  the  city's 
free  from  crime,"  protested  Kern.  "The 
'guns'  are  about  as  thick  here  as  anywhere." 

"Well,  they  come,  but  Mike  catches  them, 

and  either  chases  them  out  or  gets  them  sent 

22 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

up,"  argued  Mr.  Colvin.  " There 's  this  burg 
lar,  now,  just  sentenced  in  the  South  Side 
Court.  He  won't  do  any  mischief  for  a  few 
years. ' ' 

Kern  and  Whiteman  chuckled.  Gray  set 
down  his  coffee  cup  with  a  clatter  that  made 
the  waitress  jump.  "That  man  isn't  guilty 
of  the  crime  at  all ! "  he  protested  indignantly. 
*  *  They  just  railroaded  him.  I  'm  sure  he  never 
was  in  that  job  at  all." 

"Why,  man,  he  confessed!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Colvin  with  a  puzzled  air.  "He  must  be 
guilty." 

Kern  laughed,  as  much  at  Gray's  wrath  as 
at  Colvin 's  innocence,  and  took  up  the  cud 
gels: 

"He  confessed  because  they  gave  him  the 
third  degree  and  made  him  confess.  They 
twisted  his  arms  till  he  can  hardly  use  the 
left  one  yet.  One  of  the  detectives  told  me 
right  out  that  he  was  sure  the  man  wasn't 
guilty. ' ' 

"I  suspect  it  was  the  same  fellow  that  told 
me  the  same  story,"  said  Whiteman. 

"And  yet  he  got  up  there  in  court  and 
pleaded  guilty?"  There  was  rank  incredulity 
in  Colvin 's  voice.  The  reporter  laughed 
again. 

23 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Of  course  he  pleaded  guilty.  He's  a  bad 
egg,  been  jailed  once  or  twice,  and  probably 
has  a  killing  back  somewhere  in  his  record. 
No  jury  would  take  his  story;  and  there's  his 
confession,  twisted  out  of  him  by  the  wrists. 
His  goose  is  cooked,  no  matter  what  he  does ; 
and  he  might  as  well  plead  guilty  and  get  a 
light  sentence." 

"Well,  anyhow,  he's  out  of  mischief  for  a 
while,"  said  Mr.  Colvin.  "And  he's  no 
business  to  have  such  a  bad  record." 

"Do  you  suppose  they'll  ever  get  the  man 
who  killed  that  soldier?"  asked  Whiteman. 

"Of  course  they  will.  Murder  will  out." 
Mr.  J.  Martyn  Bramley  had  been  expounding 
the  glories  of  the  English  country  house  to 
the  helpless  violinist;  but  the  chance  to  con 
fute  these  gossipers  with  a  maxim  was  irre 
sistible.  "Murder  will  out,"  he  repeated. 

"Sometimes,"  conceded  Whiteman. 

"All  the  time,"  reiterated  J.  Martyn 
Bramley.  "Nothing  shall  be  hidden  that 
shall  not  be  brought  to  light." 

' '  True, ' '  said  Kern.  ' '  But  by  the  time  some 
things  get  to  light,  we'll  all  be  using  our 
wings  instead  of  Harteley's  street  cars;  and 
then  how  could  he  afford  to  give  you  a  thon 
sand  dollars  for  chimes?    If  you'd  cut  out 

24 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

the  proverbs  and  stick  to  the  evidence,  you'd 
find  out  that  about  one  murder  in  six  comes 
to  light  enough  to  get  the  murderer  con 
victed.  ' ' 

4 'Why  do  you  suppose  that  is?"  asked  Mrs. 
Colvin. 

"Oh,  there  are  forty  reasons,  I  suppose," 
answered  Kern.  "For  one  thing,  the  police 
have  come  to  depend  on  the  sweatbox  too 
much.  When  something  happens,  Mike  looks 
around,  grabs  someone  who  might  know 
something  about  the  case,  and  beats  him  up 
for  a  confession.  If  that  fails  to  work,  Mike's 
out  of  it ;  and  it  usually  does  fail  in  murder 
cases.  There's  too  much  at  stake." 

"I  don't  know  about  that  last,"  demurred 
Whiteman.  "I'm  afraid  it  does  work  every 
little  while,  even  then." 

"It  worked  with  Lloyd,  you  know,"  said 
Gray.  "Mike  hammered  that  poor  nigger 
till  he  told  all  about  how  he  had  killed  the 
soldier — I  remember  you  filled  three  columns 
with  it.  And  then  came  the  trial,  and  they 
proved  that  the  fellow  wasn't  within  two 
miles  of  the  scene  of  the  crime." 

"Well,  they  didn't  get  the  darky,  anyhow," 
said  Kern.  "And  they'll  never  get  anyone 
else  now.  It's  too  late." 

25 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  say,  murder  will  out,"  insisted  Bramley. 
There  was  a  certitude  of  invincible  ignorance 
in  his  voice.  Kern  looked  at  the  little  man 
in  disgust: 

"Mr.  Bramley,"  he  said,  "if  you  were  a 
betting  man,  I'd  offer  to  lay  you  a  month's 
salary  that  the  next  murder  committed  in  this 
city,  unless  before  eyewitnesses,  won't  be 
solved  in  a  year.  And  when  a  murderer  keeps 
clear  for  a  year,  he's  very  seldom  caught 
at  all." 

"I  don't  bet,  sir,"  said  Bramley. 

"It's  just  as  well  you  don't,"  said  White- 
man.  "Arthur  has  the  best  of  that  wager." 

"Telephone,  Mr.  Kern,"  announced  Mrs. 
Welton.  Kern  excused  himself  and  passed 
into  the  hall.  The  talk  at  the  tables  stopped, 
and  half  a  conversation  floated  in: 

"Hello!  — Yes.  — What?  When?  — Great 
Caesar! — Be  there  right  away!"  He  hung 
up  the  receiver  without  saying  good-by,  and 
turned  to  the  dining-room. 

"You'd  better  have  taken  that  bet,  Bram 
ley,  ' '  he  said.  ' '  William  C.  Harteley  has  just 
been  found  murdered  in  his  office!" 

The  chorus  of  amazement  from  the  diners 
followed  him  as  he  raced  for  a  car. 


CHAPTER  III 

Things  tend  to  revert  to  their  original  habits  and  uses. 
This  is  why  it  is  unwise  to  keep  a  dagger  as  a  paper  cutter. 

THE  crowd,  the  inevitable,  sensation-hunt 
ing,  morbidly  curious  crowd,  was  already 
massed  before  the  Tramway  Building ;  where 
two  policemen  were  guarding  each  entrance, 
and  making  a  show  of  keeping  the  sidewalks 
clear.  They  let  Kern  pass  with  a  nod,  and  he 
ran  up  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  then  turned 
into  the  offices  of  the  street  car  magnate. 
These  were  of  the  usual  type ;  a  long  waiting 
room,  with  private  rooms  opening  off  on 
either  side.  Mr.  Harteley's  personal  office 
was  farthest  from  the  entrance,  and  consisted 
of  three  rooms.  The  first,  through  which  one 
had  to  pass  before  coming  to  either  of  the 
others,  was  merely  an  end  of  the  waiting 
room,  partitioned  off,  and  contained  the 
stenographer's  desk.  To  the  right  of  this 
room  was  the  large  office  where  Mr.  Harteley 
transacted  most  of  his  business,  and  beyond 
was  a  smaller  room,  reserved  for  especially 
private  conferences.  The  only  outlet,  as  said 
before,  was  through  the  stenographer's  room 

27 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

to  the  common  waiting  room,  and  thence  to 
the  central  hall  of  the  building. 

But  if  the  form  of  the  suite  were  conven 
tional,  the  furnishing  of  Mr.  Harteley's  two 
private  rooms  was  sufficiently  peculiar. 
Utterly  destitute  of  any  real  artistic  taste 
or  desire,  Harteley  had  been  remarkable  for 
his  love  of  flamboyant  display.  This  found 
expression  in  huge  watches,  vast  gold  chains, 
jewelled  rings,  and  costly  scarfpins;  and  it 
found  expression  too  in  his  office  appoint 
ments.  The  Oriental  rug  on  the  floor  of  the 
main  room  was  reputed  to  have  cost  five 
thousand  dollars ;  the  chairs  were  ebony  and 
teak,  instead  of  the  usual  mahogany ;  Chinese 
bronzes  rested  on  every  available  perch  and 
Turkish  scymitars  graced  the  wall.  Daggers 
of  divers  makes  did  duty  for  paper  cutters, 
and  costly  ill-grouped  bric-a-brac  littered  the 
place.  The  small  inner  room  was  furnished 
in  a  brilliant  red ;  and  so  when  a  city  council 
man  changed  his  vote  on  a  critical  occasion, 
or  an  editor  saw  a  great  light  in  schemes 
that  he  had  previously  declared  to  be  dark 
altogether,  it  was  enough  to  say  that  he  had 
undergone  a  Eed  Room  conversion.  The  city 
understood — and  believed. 

And  now,  Mr.  Harteley  lay  dead  on  his  own 

28 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

famous  rug,  with  one  of  his  own  Oriental 
daggers  driven  to  the  hilt  in  his  heart.  His 
face  bore  the  look  of  pain  common  to  those 
who  have  died  of  stab  wounds,  but  the  usual 
tension  was  absent.  Even  in  death  the  famous 
magnate  gave  the  impression  of  virile,  ruth 
less  power.  His  big  frame  was  covered  with 
muscle  rather  than  with  fat;  his  fleshy  nose, 
hairy  hands,  thick  neck,  high  forehead,  and 
well  shaped  skull,  all  told  of  confident 
strength  and  mastership.  If  they  told  with 
equal  clearness  of  craft  and  selfishness,  that 
part  of  their  message  could  hardly  claim  at 
tention  now.  Over  the  body  still  stooped  the 
police  surgeon ;  half  a  dozen  newspaper  men, 
including  the  cub  who  had  telephoned  Kern, 
were  in  the  room,  making  notes  and  sketches ; 
a  plain  clothes  officer  and  the  chief  of  police 
were  kneeling  before  the  small  steel  safe 
which  stood  open  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 
With  them  was  the  magnate's  stenographer, 
caught  on  his  way  home  from  church,  and 
brought  in  to  aid  the  investigation. 

"No,"  the  stenographer  was  saying. 
"There's  nothing  gone  that  I  know  about. 
There  was  a  manila  envelope  here  a  few 
days  ago;  but  I  never  knew  what  was  in  it. 
Mr.  Harteley  may  have  taken  it  out  him 
self." 

29 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Is  this  it?"  asked  one  of  the  artists  who 
was  sketching  the  scene.  He  held  up  an  en 
velope  picked  from  a  wastebasket. 

"Let  things  be,  youse!"  It  was  the  plain 
clothes  man  who  spoke,  and  he  turned  from 
the  safe  as  he  did  so.  He  was  a  small  man, 
dressed  in  the  loudest  and  most  garish  of 
clothes,  with  two  revolvers  half  concealed 
under  his  coat,  and  two  big  diamonds  in  his 
shirt  front.  His  voice  was  a  threat,  and  his 
face  was  both  a  threat  and  a  study.  Cruelty, 
lechery,  greed,  cunning,  and  an  all-pervading 
suspicion,  had  made  that  face  their  home  for 
years — the  signs  of  their  tenancy  were  plain 
for  a  child  to  read.  Yet  they  had  not  wholly 
banished  a  queer,  wistful  look,  that  might 
have  been  a  reminiscence  of  better  things ;  or 
was,  more  likely,  a  mere  animal  wish  for  se 
curity.  Whatever  it  was,  it  showed  only  in 
moments  of  repose.  Just  now,  the  plain 
clothes  man  was  the  street  beast  of  prey, 
angry,  yet  not  ready  to  spring.  His  mus- 
tached  lip  curled  back  from  his  huge,  pro 
truding  teeth,  and  his  brown  eyes  glared  at 
the  man  with  the  envelope.  "If  youse  fellers 
don't  quit  yer  buttin'  in,  I'll  t'row  youse 
out!"  That  was  part  of  what  he  said,  and 
perhaps  the  least  interesting  part.  But  this 

30 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

was  Billy  Brown,  king  of  ''Brown  County," 
chief  of  detectives,  and  past  grand  master  of 
the  noble  order  of  ballot  box  stuffers  and 
election  thieves.  When  he  spoke,  reporters 
made  their  notes  in  dots  and  dashes. 

The  artist  dropped  the  manila  envelope  in 
something  very  like  a  panic.  Kern  chuckled 
as  he  turned  to  examine  the  room. 

It  was  in  considerable  disorder.  The  ebony 
chair  which  Mr.  Harteley  used  at  his  desk 
was  lying  on  its  side ;  a  map  of  the  tramway 
system  was  crumpled  up  on  the  floor,  some 
books  were  lying  beside  it,  and  the  magnate's 
desk  seemed  to  have  been  pawed  over  hastily. 
In  the  smaller  room,  a  wastebasket  behind 
the  door  was  upset.  The  windows  of  both 
rooms  opened  on  the  alley,  and  a  small  cul- 
de-sac  between  the  high  buildings.  In  the 
Red  Room,  a  window  leading  to  a  fire-escape 
was  partly  open ;  all  the  other  windows  were 
closed  and  fastened. 

More  reporters  were  arriving  in  quick  suc 
cession. 

' '  How  long  has  he  been  dead  ? ' '  asked  Kern 
of  the  surgeon. 

"Several  hours,"  he  replied.  Another 
plain  clothes  man  spoke : 

"Three  hours  and  twenty-eight  minutes." 

31 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

He  held  up  a  big  gold  watch.  ' '  We  found  this 
under  him.  The  stem's  broke,  and  it's  stopped 
at  10.22." 

"And  it  lacks  ten  minutes  of  two  now," 
said  Kern.  "If  you're  sure  the  watch  stopped 
when  it  fell,  that  ought  to  help  some." 

' '  When  else  would  it  stop  1 ' '  demanded  the 
plain  clothes  man. 

"Any  other  wounds'?"  pursued  Kern,  dis 
regarding  the  question. 

"No,"  said  the  surgeon.  "His  collar  is 
pressed  against  his  throat  as  if  someone  had 
been  choking  him.  Must  have  held  him  by 
the  throat  to  keep  him  from  yelling  when 
they  put  the  knife  into  him." 

"He'd  take  some  holding,"  said  Kern,  with 
a  glance  at  the  stalwart  frame.  "Evidently 
had  quite  a  ruction  before  they  got  him. 
Scarfpin  gone,  rings  gone — hello !  one  of  his 
knuckles  is  skinned." 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  chief,  coming 
quickly  to  the  body.  "That's  right,"  he 
added  as  he  looked  at  the  slightly  damaged 
knuckle.  "He's  put  his  mark  on  one  of  'em 
all  right.  Look  here,  Billy!" 

The  king  of  Brown  County  answered  with 
a  snarl.  ' '  Aw,  I  seen  it  before ! ' ' 

"Yes,    you    did — not!"    said    the    chief. 

32 


'THATS  RIGHT.     HKS  PUT  HIS  MARK  ox  ONE  OF    KM 
ALL  RIGHT" 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Kern,  you're  being  decent  for  once,  and 
helping  out.  The  crook  that  can't  give  an 
account  of  himself,  and  has  got  a  fresh  mark 
on  his  mug,  is  the  one  we  want." 

"The  crooks  all  have  marks  on  their 
mugs,"  said  Kern.  "By  the  time  you  get 
through  with  'em,  anyway."  The  chief 
chuckled  at  this  tribute  to  his  prowess.  The 
leading  Herald  man  spoke: 

"The  crook  you  want  is  a  crook  hired  by 
the  Brotherhood.  That's  the  gang  that 
wanted  Harteley  out  of  the  way." 

"Still  crazy,  I  see,"  said  Kern.  "It  was 
awfully  mean  of  those  miners  to  make  you 
walk  out  of  camp,  Tommy,  but  it  isn't  right 
to  hold  a  grudge  so  long. ' ' 

' '  Quit  your  scrapping, ' '  chuckled  the  chief. 

"I'm  peaceful,"  said  Kern.  "What's 
your  theory,  chief?" 

"I  ain't  ready  to  give  out  any  theories 
yet." 

"Well,  suppose  you  were  ready,  what 
would  you  tell  us  then?" 

"Well,  suppose  a  couple  of  crooks  come 
down  here  to  make  a  pinch,  not  countin'  on 
seem'  anybody,  because  it's  Sunday.  Then 
suppose  Harteley  bumps  in  on  'em.  How '11 
that  do?" 

3  33 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

'  *  What  is  there  here  for  a  crook  to  pinch  ? ' ' 
asked  Kern.  "Harteley  wasn't  fool  enough 
to  keep  his  money  in  that  dinkey  safe,  surely. 
And  I  don't  see  that  any  of  the  rugs  are 
gone. ' ' 

"His  rings  and  money  are  gone,"  said  a 
plain  clothes  man. 

"How  did  the  crooks  get  in?  That's  a 
Yale  lock." 

"What  about  the  fire  escape?" 

' '  Climb  in  by  the  fire  escape  in  broad  day 
light!" 

"Aw,  you  all  make  me  tired,"  said  the 
chief.  Somebody  got  in  here,  didn't  they? 
Huh?  Somebody  got  away  again,  with  the 
dough,  didn't  they?  Well,  then?" 

"Fine,"  said  Kern.  "Now,  Mr.  Sherlock 
Holmes,  what  do  you  say!" 

"Cut  it  out!"  said  the  king  of  Brown 
County.  "I  ain't  sayin'  no  thin'.  An'  I  ain't 
no  book  guy,  see?  We  does  this  thing  right. 
I  ain't  no  book  guy." 

"You  sure  ain't,"  agreed  Kern  with  a 
chuckle.  "You  see,  Billy,  the  book  guy  gets 
his  man." 

The  detective's  retort  stopped  on  his  lips 
as  he  looked  toward  the  door.  The  police 
man  on  guard  was  speaking: 

34 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"No,  Miss,  no!  You — you  can't  come  in! 
You  mustn't!  It  ain't  no  place  for  a  lady! 
Please,  Miss  Harteley!  Oh,  Chief!" 

The  men  in  the  room  stared  helplessly  at 
each  other.  Scenes  of  violence  were  part  of 
their  day's  work,  and  the  dead  man  on  the 
floor  disturbed  them  not  a  bit.  But  to  have 

the  victim's  daughter  come  at  such  a  time 

The  chief  stepped  to  the  door,  with  three  or 
four  of  the  newspaper  men  at  his  heels. 

Before  them  was  a  woman  of  perhaps 
twenty-five  years.  She  was  not  beautiful, 
in  the  classic  sense,  and  her  hair  was  of  the 
shade  that  only  Titian  knew  how  to  appreci 
ate;  but  she  was  tall,  vigorous,  wholesome 
looking.  Her  features  were  a  softened,  re 
fined  copy  of  those  of  the  dead  magnate;  a 
copy  in  which  the  craft  and  ruthlessness  of 
the  original  had  been  left  out. 

"Is  this  the  chief!"  she  asked,  glancing 
from  his  face  to  the  cap  he  carried  in  his 
hand.  "I  am  Miss  Harteley.  I  have  come 
to  see  my  father.  Is — is  it  the — the  worst?" 

The  chief  fumbled  with  his  cap  like  a 
schoolboy  caught  in  a  fault.  The  Herald  man 
spoke :  "Yes,  Miss  Harteley,  it  is  the  worst." 

"I  must  see  him!"  she  exclaimed.  "No!" 
cried  the  chief.  He  reached  out  his  hand  to 

35 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

stop  her,  but  she  slipped  by,  and  came  to  the 
middle  of  the  room.  For  perhaps  a  minute 
she  stood  there,  looking  with  horror-widened 
eyes.  Then  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she 
was  half  carried  to  the  outer  room,  where 
the  chief  ordered  a  man  to  call  a  taxicab. 
Kern,  with  a  queer,  puzzled  look  on  his  face, 
whispered  to  the  cub  reporter;  then  tiptoed 
from  the  room,  and  ran  down  to  the  base 
ment  where  the  janitor  lived. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Mislaid  jewelry  may  likewise  be  misleading. 

THE  Star  office  was  only  a  few  blocks  away, 
and  at  this  time  on  Sunday  afternoon,  it  was 
likely  to  be  almost  empty.  Now,  however,  a 
goodly  portion  of  the  staff  was  on  hand.  Con 
trary  to  the  usual  custom,  Kern  was  supposed 
to  report  direct  to  the  managing  editor. 
As  he  turned  into  Jennings'  room  he  found 
a  sort  of  conference  in  progress.  The  manag 
ing  editor  and  the  night  editor  were  there; 
the  city  editor  was  present,  too,  looking  as 
worried  as  if  his  reporters  were  all  skylark 
ing  just  at  the  crisis  of  a  big  story.  The 
telegraph  editor  had  dropped  in  also,  for  no 
apparent  reason  but  to  enjoy  the  troubles  of 
his  friends. 

Kern  gave  and  received  a  general  "Hel 
lo."  Turning  to  the  city  editor,  "What's 
the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Matter!  Matter  enough,  I  should  think! 
Here  we  go  and  print  a  fierce  roast  of  the 
biggest  big-bug  in  town;  and  he  hasn't  any 
more  decency  than  to  go  and  get  bumped  off 
the  same  forenoon!  He  might  have  waited 

37 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

a  day,  anyhow !    Talk  about  your  knocks  !— 
The  city  editor  spread  his  hands  as  if  lan 
guage  were  quite  unequal  to  the  occasion— 
and  he  knew  a  good  deal  of  language,  too. 

Jennings  laughed  silently,  shaking  his  head. 
"The  most  unkindest  cut  of  all,"  he  said. 
'  *  Never  mind  the  knock,  son ;  I  '11  take  all  the 
responsibility  for  that.  What  do  you  make  of 
it,  Kern?" 

"I  don't  make  much  of  anything  of  it." 

* '  First  time  I  ever  knew  you  to  be  stumped 
for  a  theory."  The  city  editor  struck  a 
match.  He  had  lighted  his  cigarette  four 
times  in  less  than  three  minutes. 

"Well,  you  may  have  noticed  that  most 
of  my  theories  work  out, ' '  retorted  Kern.  * '  I 
don't  want  to  damage  a  good  record.  Here 
are  the  facts :  Harteley  left  home  a  little  be 
fore  ten  this  morning,  in  his  auto.  The  chauf 
feur  left  him  in  front  of  the  Tramway  Build 
ing,  and  wasn't  to  come  back  for  him  unless 
called.  He  was  expecting  friends  to  lunch, 
and  had  said  he  would  be  home  by  noon. 
When  he  didn't  come,  his  daughter  phoned 
the  office,  didn't  get  any  answer,  and  thought 
he  had  started  home  on  a  street  car.  She 
waited  till  after  one ;  and  then  when  he  didn  't 
come,  and  she  couldn't  get  any  answer  from 

38 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

the  office,  she  phoned  the  police.  They  routed 
out  the  janitor,  got  in,  and  found  Harteley 
dead  and  cold.  His  watch  is  the  only  valu 
able  left,  and  that  is  stopped,  with  the  stem 
broken,  at  10.22.  He  must  have  been  in  the 
building  several  minutes  before  getting 
killed.  I  suppose  Dick  has  told  you  about 
the  knife." 

"Yes,"  said  the  city  editor.  "He  told  us 
about  the  open  safe,  and  Miss  Harteley  com 
ing  down,  too.  I  cussed  him  because  he  didn't 
have  a  list  of  the  stuff  that  was  missing." 

"You  cussed  him  because  your  nerves  are 
outside  of  your  clothes,  and  you've  got  to 
take  it  out  on  someone,"  said  Kern.  "I  told 
him  I'd  take  care  of  that.  Here's  your  list." 
He  fished  a  slip  from  his  pocket,  and  read: 

"One  diamond  horseshoe  scarfpin. 

One  opal  scarfpin. 

One  solitaire  diamond  ring. 

One  seal  ring. 

One  garnet  ring. 

One  diamond  shirt  stud. 

One  leather  change  purse. 

Money,  unknown,  perhaps  twenty  dollars. ' ' 

"Two  scarf  pins?"  asked  the  managing 
editor.  "How  on  earth  do  you  make  that?" 

"I'm  not  making  it,"  said  Kern.     "The 

39 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

chauffeur  says  Harteley  was  wearing  an  opal 
pin.  The  butler  says  he  had  on  his  famous 
diamond  headlight — and  both  pins  are  gone, 
for  I  went  out  there  with  Pete  Wilkes,  and 
they  opened  his  private  case  to  make  sure." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  said 
the  telegraph  editor.  "Glad  it  isn't  my  job 
to  worry  this  thing  out.  The  case  of  the 
two  stickpins !  Gee  whiz ! ' ' 

Jennings  was  about  to  speak  when  a  rap 
came  at  the  door,  which  opened  at  once,  and 
admitted  the  cub 's  head.  He  was  flushed  with 
the  day's  excitement,  and  grinning  over  the 
news  he  had  to  tell.  "They've  just  found 
Harteley 's  change  purse,"  he  said.  "In  the 
waste  can  right  in  front  of  the  Cedar  Street 
entrance. ' ' 

"Empty?"  demanded  all  the  men  at  once. 

"Sure,"  answered  the  cub. 

"Who  found  it?"  was  the  managing 
editor's  question. 

The  cub  grinned  wider  than  ever.  l  i  I  did, ' ' 
and  dodged  out  with  congratulations  follow 
ing  him. 

"Isn't  it  a  plain  case  of  second-story  men?" 
suggested  the  city  editor. 

' '  Don 't  see  it  that  way, ' '  said  Kern.  * '  Sec 
ond-story  men  seldom  bother  office  buildings, 

40 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

and  never  fight  when  they  can  help  it.  There's 
a  Yale  lock  on  the  door  from  the  hall  to  the 
main  waiting  room,  and  another  on  the  door 
from  the  stenographer's  room  to  Harteley's 
room.  What  was  there  to  hinder  a  thief  from 
snapping  on  those  locks,  and  sneaking  off 
when  he  heard  Harteley  coming?" 

"Nothing,  I  guess,"  admitted  the  city 
editor. 

"Old  Tommy  Watkins  thinks  it's  the 
Brotherhood,  does  he!"  queried  Jennings. 
The  city  edtior  struck  in  before  Kern  could 
speak : 

"Old  Tom  and  his  notions  make  me  tired! 
When  the  Brotherhood  goes  after  a  man  it 
uses  dynamite  and  musses  up  the  whole 
block!" 

"Don't  get  excited,"  laughed  the  telegraph 
editor.  * '  The  Brotherhood  may  have  learned 
better  manners  since  you  left  'em." 

"You  must  have  some  notion  about  the 
thing,"  Jennings  turned  to  Kern. 

The  reporter  frowned.  "No  notion  that 
gets  anywhere, ' '  he  answered.  '  *  I  believe  the 
men  who  killed  Harteley  came  to  see  him  by 
appointment. ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean!"  exclaimed  the  city 
editor. 

41 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Just  what  I  say.  Look  at  it:  Harteley 
hasn't  been  to  his  office  on  Sunday  for 
months.  He  goes  to-day,  and  gets  killed,  gets 
killed  in  a  way  that  seems  to  me  to  show  a 
lot  of  careful  thinking.  That  may  be  a  co 
incidence,  but  I  don 't  see  it  that  way.  Harte 
ley  was  down  there  to  meet  someone,  and 
the  fellows  he  went  to  meet  were  the  fellows 
who  killed  him.  Otherwise,  we'd  be  hearing 
from  the  chap  who  made  the  appointment. 
Then  see  how  perfectly  the  thing  seems  to 
have  been  thought  out.  Nobody  heard  a  dis 
turbance,  nobody  saw  any  suspicious  char 
acters  around  the  shop,  there  isn't  the  ghost 
of  a  clue  except  possibly  the  broken  watch 
and  the  skinned  knuckle.  And  I  don't  see 
how  they're  going  to  lead  anywhere." 

"It  doesn't  look  like  a  second-story  job," 
admitted  Jennings. 

"But  what  did  they  want  to  kill  him  for  I" 
asked  the  city  editor. 

"They  came  to  get  something  he  had,  and 
killed  him  because  he  wouldn't  give  it  up;  or 
they  came  there  and  picked  a  quarrel  with 
him  purposely.  The  rings  and  pin  were  taken 
for  a  blind." 

"For  a  blind?"  echoed  the  city  editor. 

"Men  who  could  fix  up  a  plant  like  this 

42 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

one  aren't  committing  murder  for  diamond 
headlights,"  said  Kern. 

1 '  Suppose  one  of  the  men  was  a  respectable 
looking  fellow,  who  meant  to  get  something 
from  Harteley,  or  kill  him,"  suggested  Jen 
nings.  ' '  He  would  naturally  pick  out  a  crook 
to  help  him  in  a  job  of  that  sort,  or,  at  least, 
he  might  do  so.  "With  that  combination,  when 
the  killing  came  off,  the  crook  would  carry  off 
the  jewelry." 

"True,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said 
Kern. 

' '  But,  Jennings,  why  do  you  always  speak 
of  two  men?"  put  in  the  telegraph  editor. 
"Why  couldn't  one  have  done  it?" 

' '  He  'd  have  to  be  a  prizefighter ;  Harteley 
was  a  big,  powerful  man." 

"What  are  you  going  to  play  as  the  feature 
of  the  story?"  asked  the  city  editor. 

"The  remarkable  mystery  of  it,  I  think," 
said  Kern. 

"Why  not  make  the  girl's  visit  the  feature  I 
That's  the  big  thing  to  me.  Gee!  she  must 
have  nerve!" 

"I'd  rather  not  make  too  much  of  that,  if 
you  don't  mind." 

Jennings  gave  one  of  his  queer,  kindly 
smiles.  "Make  it  a  signed  story,"  he  said, 

43 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"and  tell  it  your  own  way,  with  all  the 
theories  of  the  crime.  Give  your  own  views 
and  why  you  hold  them.  Of  course,  you'll 
mention  Miss  Harteley's  visit — the  society 
editor's  got  a  picture  of  her  that  we'll  use  on 
the  first  or  third  page." 

"My  Scotland,  I'd  hate  to  be  the  crook  that 
gets  into  Mike  Kennedy's  hands  to-night!" 
said  the  city  editor.  "He'll  work  the  third 
degree  overtime,  and  then  some." 

"Mike's  a  queer  combination,"  admitted 
Jennings.  "Was  Billy  there?"  Kern  nodded. 

"Mike  may  be  a  combination,"  spoke  the 
telegraph  editor,  "but  Billy  isn't;  he's  ab 
solutely  the  meanest  beast  I  ever  saw.  I'll 
bet  he's  got  a  gun  barrel  wrapping  around 
some  codger's  head  at  the  present  moment." 

"  'No  man  shall  be  compelled  to  testify 
against  himself,'  "  quoted  the  city  editor. 
"Say,  when  I  was  studying  law,  I  actually 
used  to  believe  that." 

"A  man  that'll  study  law  can  believe  any 
thing,"  smiled  Jennings.  "Write  your  story 
here,  if  you  like,  Kern;  I've  an  engagement 
that'll  keep  me  till  you're  through.  Come 
on,  fellows." 

Kern  sat  thinking  for  an  hour  or  more 
after  the  men  had  left.  Then  he  wrote  a  few 
notes  on  the  typewriter,  and  went  out  for 

44 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

a  cup  of  coffee.  Returning,  he  settled  down 
to  work;  but  it  was  some  time  before  the 
sheets  began  piling  up  at  their  usual  rate, 
and  one  passage  required  several  restate 
ments.  By  nine  o'clock  he  had  finished. 
There  was  a  summary  of  the  story  in  the 
headlines,  a  second  and  more  careful  sum 
mary  in  the  first  paragraph,  and  then  an 
extended  statement  which  no  one  but  a  gen 
ius  could  misunderstand.  Any  newspaper 
man,  noting  the  terse  English  and  the  amaz 
ing  knowledge  of  similar  cases  which  illus 
trated  the  peculiar  features  of  the  case  in 
hand,  would  have  understood  why  Kern  was 
a  privileged  character  at  the  Star  office.  His 
theory  of  the  crime  was  stated  as  follows : 

* '  The  crime  was  not  committed  by  ordinary 
burglars  or  second-story  men.  There  was 
nothing  in  Harteley's  office  to  attract  such 
gentry,  and  nothing  to  keep  them  from  get 
ting  away  when  they  heard  him  coming. 

"The  crime  was  not  committed  by  any 
agent  of  the  Brotherhood.  Assuming  that 
organization  to  be  as  murderous  as  the 
Herald  claims,  there  is  no  sufficient  reason 
why  it  should  wish  to  kill  Harteley.  Besides, 
this  murder  is  utterly  different  from  all 
others  which  have  been  laid  at  the  Brother 
hood  's  door.  Those  were  committed  with 

45 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

dynamite  or  sawed-off  shotgun;  this  with  a 
knife  picked  up  from  the  murdered  man's 
table. 

"In  my  judgment,  the  crime  was  com 
mitted  by  men  at  least  one  of  whom  was 
well  known  to  Harteley,  and  who  met  him 
at  the  office  by  appointment.  The  other  man 
may  or  may  not  have  been  a  professional 
crook.  They  entered  Harteley 's  office  by  the 
door,  which  he  had  opened;  and  after  the 
crime,  they  left  by  the  door.  It  would  be  far 
easier  to  come  out  of  an  office  door  in  that 
building  on  Sunday  without  being  seen  than 
to  climb  down  a  fire  escape  in  broad  daylight 
without  being  seen. 

"If  the  jewelry  taken  from  Harteley 's 
body  is  offered  for  sale,  or  if  one  of  the 
criminals  confesses,  the  case  will  be  cleared 
up.  Otherwise,  I  think  it  is  likely  to  remain 
a  mystery.  I  don't  believe  our  present  chief 
of  detectives  is  a  match  for  men  who  could 
plan  a  crime  like  this  one." 

He  handed  in  his  copy,  went  out  for  sup 
per,  and  made  two  or  three  excursions  around 
the  town  before  coming  back  to  the  office. 
"Anything  new?"  he  asked  the  city  editor. 

''Nothing,  except  a  new  stiff  at  head 
quarters  every  five  minutes.  They're  work 
ing  the  dragnet  to  the  limit;  and  Mike's  got 

46 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

his  coat  off  and  is  just  wading  into  'em. 
This  is  the  blamedest  town  I  ever  struck  in 
my  life." 

"They  have  the  third  degree  everywhere,'7 
said  Kern. 

"Yes,  but  they  don't  work  it  with  a  brass 
band  accompaniment  the  way  Mike  does  when 
he  starts.  Do  you  know  Jack  Sponsilier, 
down  at  that  Alcazar  dive?" 

"Sure!  They  haven't  pulled  him  for 
this!" 

"Pulled  him  and  walloped  him  too.  Dick 
just  phoned  up  about  it.  They  brought  Jack 
in  with  a  bunch  of  other  dubs,  and  Billy 
walked  up  without  saying  a  word,  and  pasted 
Jack  across  the  face  with  a  gun.  Dick  says 
he  bled  like  a  stuck  pig.  And  there  were 
three  reporters  watching  the  whole  show — 
THREE!"  The  city  editor's  voice  broke 
with  excess  of  emotion. 

Kern  laughed. 

"Jack  must  have  robbed  some  chap  lately, 
and  didn't  hand  over  the  right  percentage. 
It  would  be  good  riddance  if  they  killed  him 
—which  they  won't.  He's  the  meanest  lot 
in  the  Bad  Lands. ' ' 

"Where  have  you  been?"  questioned  the 
city  editor. 

"Following  up  Mike's  theory  and  my  own, 

47 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

and  not  getting  any  results  on  either.  I've 
been  to  all  the  main  hotels,  looking  for  some 
mysterious  stranger;  and  I've  also  inter 
viewed  a  friend  of  mine  who  keeps  close  touch 
with  the  second-story  profession.  Nothing 
doing  either  way." 

"  You  '11  take  care  of  the  inquest  to-mor 
row?" 

1  'Sure.    Good-night." 

1  'Good-night." 

At  the  city  jail,  in  a  steel  crib  six  feet  in 
each  of  its  three  dimensions,  Jack  Sponsilier 
sat  on  the  one  narrow  bunk,  and  glared 
through  the  darkness  at  the  corner  where 
cowered  his  cellmate.  They  were  doubling 
teams  at  headquarters,  and  that  is  an  event 
which  makes  stranger  bedfellows  than  politics 
or  poverty.  Jack  knew  this,  of  course,  and 
knew  likewise  that  complaint  was  a  good 
deal  worse  than  useless;  but  he  did  think 
it  hard  for  a  substantial  land  owner,  and  a 
pillar  of  the  administration  like  himself,  to 
be  herded  with  a  crazy  man.  The  keeper  of 
the  Alcazar  glared  and  swore — very  softly, 
nursing  his  damaged  features  the  while ;  and 
at  intervals  came  the  plaintive  whimper  of 
the  man  who  was  closely  related  to  the  Em 
peror  of  Germany,  but  who  somehow  couldn  't 
seem  to  get  his  royal  rights. 

48 


CHAPTER  V 

Murder  will  out — if  you  give  it  time  enough. 

KERN  was  so  late  at  breakfast  next  morn 
ing  that  he  expected  to  eat  alone.  But  Mrs. 
Colvin  was  finishing  her  coffee  as  he  came 
down;  Gray  was  reading  for  the  third  time 
the  story  of  the  murder;  and  Bramley,  who 
had  done  eating  some  time  before,  was  busy 
ing  himself  with  edifying  remarks  that  no 
one  noticed,  looking  over  some  letters,  and 
occasionally  taking  a  survey  of  the  outside 
world  through  the  dining-room  windows.  For 
a  storm  had  come  up  in  the  night,  sheets  of 
cold  rain  were  driving  before  a  wind  that 
sent  the  smoke  in  level  lines  from  the  chim 
neys,  and  made  the  rather  elderly  house 
groan  and  shiver  in  every  timbered  joint. 

' '  Hello,  Lecocq ! ' '  said  Gray,  gathering  his 
paper  in  one  hand  and  reaching  for  his  cold 
coffee  with  the  other.  ' '  Got  in  your  fine  work 
last  evening,  didn't  you?  'By  our  famous 
criminal  expert,  who  solved  the  mystery  of 
the  wardrobe,  or,  why  the  moth  ate  the 
shawl.'  Say,  what  a  lot  of  good  copy  I'm 
wasting  around  here. ' ' 

4  49 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

A  good  humored  war  of  words  between 
Gray  and  Kern  was  part  of  the  regular  day's 
work ;  and  usually  the  reporter  held  his  own 
fairly  well.  This  morning,  he  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  gesture  that 
made  him  look  more  like  a  foreign  surgeon 
than  ever,  spoke  to  Mrs.  Colvin,  and  sat 
down  to  his  breakfast.  The  lady  took  up  the 
idle  cudgel: 

"Mr.  Kern's  account  of  this  murder  would 
be  pretty  good  copy  for  your  next  story,  I 
think.  Isn't  it  a  horrible  thing,  Mr.  Kern!" 

"What,  Gene's  next  pipe-dream?"  asked 
Kern  innocently.  "Don't  let's  judge  in  ad 
vance.  ' ' 

"No,  the  murder,  you  quarrelsome  chil 
dren.  I  wasn't  overly  fond  of  Mr.  Harteley, 
but  I  think  this  is  awful." 

Kern's  mouth  tightened  a  bit  before  he 
spoke. 

"I  suppose  all  murders  are  awful.  But 
for  my  part,  I've  been  fighting  William 
Harteley  too  long  and  have  caught  him  in  too 
many  dirty  deals  to  weep  very  much  over  the 
fatal  event.  Especially  when  I  believe  that 
some  dirty  deal  unknown  caused  the  killing. ' ' 

"You  put  it  a  little  more  gently  in  the 
paper,"  remarked  Gray.  "But  it  wasn't 

50 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

hard  for  anyone  who  knows  either  you  or 
Harteley  to  guess  what  you  meant.  What 
a  brutal  tyrant  he  was." 

"De  mortuis,  nihil  nisi  bonum,"  boomed 
out  the  voice  of  Bramley.  Have  you  ever 
heard  the  tongue  of  Caesar  rendered  in  the 
accents  of  Whitechapelf  It's  an  experience 
worth  having,  but  Mrs.  Welton's  boarders 
were  used  to  it.  Mrs.  Colvin  spoke: 

"You  haven't  much  hope  of  seeing  the 
murder  solved,  have  you?" 

"If  we  wait  for  the  police  to  solve  it, 
we'll  wait  till  doomsday." 

"Murder  will  out,"  came  from  the  Rever 
end  Bramley. 

"Mike  would  appreciate  your  help  in  bring 
ing  it  out  just  now,"  suggested  Kern. 

"I  want  you  to  accept  my  personal  thanks 
for  the  way  you  dismiss  that  silly  story  about 
the  Brotherhood  being  mixed  up  in  this." 
Gray  spoke  with  warmth,  as  was  usual  when 
this  topic  came  up.  "It's  a  typical  lie  of  the 
'interests,'  and  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for 
nailing  it." 

"Glad  you're  suited,"  smiled  Kern.  "I 
thought  it  was  a  typical  hallucination  of 
Tommy  Watkins,  myself.  Ever  since  the 
boys  chased  him  out  of  the  gold  camp,  he's 

51 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

seen  the  hand  of  the  Inner  Circle  every 
where.  ' ' 

"They've  accused  the  Brotherhood  of 
everything  from  petty  larceny  to  murder," 
went  on  Gray.  They've  attacked  us,  just  as  a 
capitalistic  press  attacks  every  movement 
that  throws  away  the  worn  out  dogmas  of 
trades'  unionism, gets  down  to  economic  prin 
ciples,  and  tries  to  stop  the  exploitation  of 
the  wage  earners  as  a  class.  Your  paper's 
been  fairly  decent,  I'm  bound  to  admit;  but 
I  was  afraid  you'd  take  up  the  cry  this 
time. ' ' 

"On  the  principle,  I  suppose,  that  having 
helped  the  gang  when  guilty,  we  should  even 
things  up  by  whacking  them  when  innocent. 
Gene,  my  son,  how  you've  brought  that  con 
fiding  tenderness  of  yours  through  the  cold, 
cold  world  without  getting  it  frozen  is  a 
mystery  to  me.  That  Inner  Circle  ought  to 
be  in  the  pen;  and  would  be,  if  our  old  man 
weren't  such  a  precious  innocent,  and  if  the 
mine  owners  weren't  a  bunch  of  crooks  them 
selves.  Your  friend  Stannard  ought  to  be 
hanged  as  high  as  Haman." 

"I  believe  Stannard  to  be  one  of  the  most 
upright  and  honorable  men  I  know,"  said 
Gray,  warmly.  Kern  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

52 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Odd  what  a  death  rate  there  is  among 
his  enemies,  then,"  he  said.  "No  go,  Gene. 
That  gang  of  cheap  grafters  that  has  you 
hypnotized  is  mean  enough  for  anything. 
This  didn't  happen  to  be  their  job,  that's 
all." 

"How  do  you  feel  so  sure?"  queried  Mrs. 
Colvin. 

"If  it  had  been  the  Brotherhood  crowd, 
they'd  have  blown  the  top  of  the  Tramway 
Building  clear  out  to  City  Park.  They  'd  have 
dirtied  the  streets  for  blocks,  taken  chances  on 
killing  any  number  of  innocent  folks,  and  de 
stroyed  a  lot  of  valuable  property,  besides 
making  people  nervous  with  the  noise.  As 
it  is,  there  was  just  a  little  knife  thrust  in 
exactly  the  right  place;  no  fuss,  no  waste, 
no  needless  destruction.  When  I  begin  my 
career  as  a  murderer,  I  shall  take  this  case 
as  my  model." 

"You  are  encouraging  murder  now  by 
your  carping  criticism  of  the  authorities," 
pronounced  J.  Martyn  Bramley.  "It's  the 
usual  American  railing  at  those  whom 
Providence  has  placed  in  charge  of  the  state. 
Even  a  republican  form  of  government  is 
entitled  to  respect  from  those  who  have  been 
mad  enough  to  choose  that  form,  in  defiance 

53 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

of  the  laws  of  God  and  the  experience  of 
man.  Your  sensational  paper  is  encouraging 
violence. ' ' 

"Does  the  collection  come  next?"  grinned 
Kern,  his  lips  twitching.  "You  should  send 
copies  of  your  sermons  to  our  City  Council. 
They'd  appreciate  'em." 

The  satire  was  lost.  "I  haven't  printed 
my  sermons,"  rejoined  the  little  man.  "And 
we  don't  take  up  collections  out  of  church." 
He  added  his  firm  conviction  that  murder 
will  out,  reminded  his  hearers  of  the  vast 
superiority  of  English  judicial  methods, 
gathered  up  his  letters,  and  went  out.  Kern 
gazed  after  him  with  a  look  of  unutterable 
disgust. 

"If  that  little  fellow  should  go  to  sleep  in 
a  cabbage  field,  and  walk  off  with  the  wrong 
head  when  he  wakened  up,  the  gardener  would 
be  the  only  loser.  If  he  isn't  the  chilly  limit, 
I  never  met  it." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Gray,  laughing.  "But 
he's  right  on  the  criminal  administration, 
though.  Wasn't  it  a  remarkable  thing,  Miss 
Harteley's  coming  down  that  way?" 

"Miss  Harteley  is  a  remarkable  girl,"  said 
Mrs.  Colvin.  "She  is  the  sweetest  and  most 
unspoiled  girl  I  ever  knew,  who  had  any- 

54 


thing  like  her  wealth  and  position.  Don't 
you  think  she  has  a  fine  face?"  The  question 
was  addressed  to  Kern. 

'  *  I  should  say  she  had  a  good  share  of  her 
father's  energy,  and  much  more  than  his 
share  of  real  pluck,"  fenced  the  reporter. 

' '  That's  true, ' '  agreed  Mrs.  Colvin.  * '  And 
she  has  a  sense  of  duty  and  fair  play  that 
her  father  never  had.  She  was  the  only 
member  of  the  household  that  he  didn't  try 
to  bully.  Her  mother  is  one  of  these  subdued 
little  women,  who  doesn't  dare  say  her  soul 
is  her  own." 

"Doubt  if  it  was  her  own  while  Harteley 
lived,"  replied  Kern.  "And  now,  I've  got  to 
mosey  down  to  the  inquest." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Gray. 


CHAPTER  VI 

When  evolution  has  produced  a  perfect  thing,  it  stops 
working.  Crowner's  quest  law  has  not  changed  in  three 
centuries. 

CORONER  LUTGERS  was  the  sort  of  doctor 
who  gets  a  political  job  or  goes  to  advertis 
ing  within  three  years  of  his  graduation.  In 
one  capacity  or  another,  he  had  been  draw 
ing  public  money  for  twenty  years;  and 
meant  to  continue  in  the  same  occupation  for 
twenty  years  more.  His  strong  point  was 
dignity,  a  dignity  much  resembling  a  safety 
night  lamp ;  for  no  matter  how  often  it  was 
tipped  over,  it  always  righted  itself,  to  gleam 
austerely  from  the  doctor's  bald  forehead 
and  patriarchal  whiskers.  At  this  particular 
inquest,  the  doctor's  dignity  lacked  some 
thing  of  its  usual  calm.  It  was  not  a  case 
in  which  the  public  would  willingly  accept 
the  "person  or  persons  unknown"  verdict; 
and  yet  for  the  life  of  him,  the  coroner  could 
not  see  how  any  other  verdict  was  possible. 
Mr.  Landis,  the  Harteley  lawyer,  was  pres 
ent,  and  often  lent  an  unofficial  hand  in  the 
examination  of  witnesses;  but  his  efforts 
brought  no  relief  to  the  situation. 

56 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  police  surgeon  testified  that  the  mar- 
der  had  taken  place  full  three  hours  before 
the  discovery  of  the  body.  The  dagger- 
presented  in  evidence — had  pierced  the  heart. 
There  was  nothing  to  show  whether  the  blow 
was  dealt  with  the  right  hand  or  with  the 
left.  There  was  one  peculiar  circumstance: 
the  dagger  thrust  had  gone  a  bit  upward, 
instead  of  downward.  How  did  the  surgeon 
account  for  this?  He  didn't.  There  was  very 
little  bleeding ;  as  the  dagger  had  been  driven 
home  and  allowed  to  remain,  and  its  blade 
was  thickest  near  the  handle.  The  marks  on 
the  neck  were  slight,  but  enough  to  show  that 
some  one  was  holding  Mr.  Harteley  by  the 
throat  before  he  was  stabbed.  Asked  if  it 
were  possible  for  one  man  to  have  thus  held 
the  tramway  boss  and  stabbed  him,  the  sur 
geon  answered  that  the  heavy-weight  cham 
pion  of  the  prize-ring  might  have  done  it; 
but  in  his  judgment,  no  one  else  would  be 
equal  to  the  task. 

The  chief  of  police  told  of  Miss  Harteley 's 
telephone  message,  of  the  trip  to  the  office, 
and  what  was  found  there.  The  office  was 
locked,  the  janitor  had  opened  the  door.  No, 
the  inner  doors  were  not  locked,  were  not 
even  closed.  Any  signs  of  disorder  except 

57 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

around  the  body?  Yes,  the  open  window  in 
the  Red  Room,  and  the  overturned  waste- 
basket.  Looked  as  if  someone  had  been  hid 
ing  behind  the  door.  Clues?  The  police  felt 
sure  of  getting  the  criminal,  and  preferred 
not  to  go  into  details  at  present.  There  was 
one  clue,  however,  which  had  been  published, 
the  dead  man's  right  knuckle  was  slightly 
damaged.  Who  noticed  that  ?  Mr.  Kern,  of 
the  Star.  The  coroner  frowned  solemnly  at 
this  genial  admission,  and  Tommy  Watkins 
sniffed  audibly. 

The  chauffeur  had  brought  Mr.  Harteley 
to  the  Tramway  Building,  and  left  him.  No, 
he  did  not  see  Mr.  Harteley  enter  the  build 
ing.  The  chaff eur  was  sure  that  Harteley 
had  worn  the  opal  pin. 

The  butler  told  of  the  absence  of  the  dia 
mond  pin,  and  was  equally  positive  that 
Harteley  had  worn  this  on  "the  fatal  morn 
ing." 

The  stenographer  was  positive  that  the 
safe  was  opened  by  someone  who  knew  the 
combination.  Did  he  know  that  combination  ? 
He  did.  His  alibi  was  so  unimpeachable  that 
he  could  afford  the  admission.  Nothing  was 
gone  except  the  manila  envelope,  nothing  of 
importance,  anyway. 

58 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Do  you  know  what  was  in  that  envelope!" 

"No,  sir." 

''Haven't  you  any  idea?" 

' '  No,  sir.  The  way  he  handled  it  the  other 
day  made  me  think  he  didn't  want  to  lose 
it;  but  that's  all  I  know." 

"Have  you  any  knowledge  of  any  circum 
stance  that  would,  in  your  judgment,  cause 
anyone  to  seek  the  life  of  your  late  em 
ployer?" 

"Why,  no."  The  stenographer  spoke  ner 
vously.  "That  is,  nothing  that  ought  to 
make  anyone  want  to  kill  him.  There  was  a 
suit — they  were  talking  of  bringing  a  suit 
He  stopped  helplessly.  The  coroner 
followed  up  the  lead: 

* '  What  suit  was  that  ? ' '  The  stenographer 
was  plainly  sorry  that  he  had  spoken,  but  he 
answered  freely: 

"Mr.  Harteley  was  a  stockholder  in  the 
Austin  mill,  that  was  blown  up  during  the 
strike:  and  he  was  figuring  with  the  other 
large  stockholders  on  bringing  a  suit  against 
the  Brotherhood  for  damages.  He  argued 
that  they  were  sure  of  a  verdict,  and  that  it 
would  make  strikes  unpopular.  I  think  it 
was  given  up,  though;  as  the  other  stock 
holders  were  against  it." 

59 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Was  the  matter  discussed  publicly?" 

"No,  it  was  very  private.  I  do  not  think 
anyone  besides  myself  and  a  few  of  the  stock 
holders  knew  anything  about  it." 

The  janitor  added  to  the  mystery,  instead 
of  dispelling  it.  He  made  it  very  clear  that 
the  doors  had  not  been  tampered  with.  He  was 
sure  that  no  one  could  have  secured  dupli 
cates  of  his  keys — he  wouldn't  let  the  police 
have  them,  but  unlocked  the  door  himself. 
When  he  had  finished  work  the  night  before, 
the  windows  were  all  closed  and  fastened, 
and  the  wastebasket  was  right  side  up. 

"Mr.  Kern!"  said  the  coroner  next;  and 
Kern  started  in  surprise.  The  coroner  re 
peated  his  call;  and  the  reporter  went  for 
ward  to  the  witness  chair.  The  coroner  called 
up  all  his  reserves  of  dignity.  He  had  an  old 
score  to  settle,  and  thought  this  was  a  chance 
to  settle  it. 

"How  did  you  come  to  notice  this  mark 
on  Harteley's  hand?" 

"Because  I  was  looking  for  it,"  said  Kern. 

It  was  the  turn  of  the  audience  to  start. 
Landis  looked  puzzled,  and  the  coroner  leaned 
forward.  "Looking  for  it?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  Explain  yourself. ' ' 

Kern  smiled  mischievously  at  the  tragic 

60 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

tone.  "It  was  very  simple,"  he  said.  "As 
the  chief  has  told  you,  the  room  showed  that 
there  had  been  a  fight.  Harteley  was  a  big, 
powerful  man,  quite  likely  to  give  as  well  as 
take  in  a  scuffle.  If  he  happened  to  drive  his 
fist  against  someone's  head  or  teeth,  the 
knuckles  would  show  it.  I  looked,  and  the 
mark  was  there." 

"Amateur  detective,  eh?"  sneered  the 
coroner.  Kern  made  no  answer.  The  cor 
oner  took  another  tack : 

"You  wrote  the  account  of  the  murder  in 
this  morning's  Star?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  also  wrote  that  scandalous  ar 
ticle  that  appeared  in  the  Sunday  issue  of 
your  sheet?" 

"I  wrote  an  article  for  the  Sunday  Star/' 
said  Kern.  "But  I  don't  own  that  'sheet,' 
and  I  didn't  know  that  the  article  was  a 
scandal." 

"You  mentioned  me  in  that  article,  sir!" 
said  the  coroner.  Kern  made  an  exasperat 
ing  gesture. 

"I  had  forgotten.  In  that  case,  I  suppose 
it  was  scandalous." 

"Answer  my  questions,  sir,  and  leave  out 
thisnonsense.  You  publish  a  scandalous  story, 

61 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

an  infamous  story  about  one  of  our  leading 
citizens,  and  he  is  found  murdered  the  same 
day.  Is  there  any  connection  between  those 
two  events?" 

' 'Well,  you  seem  to  be  mixed  up  in  both  of 
them." 

The  auditors  tittered,  and  the  coroner 
writhed,  but  he  was  not  wise  enough  to  with 
draw  from  the  unequal  contest. 

"Did  Mr.  Harteley  know  that  you  were 
going  to  write  this  infamous  story  about 
him!" 

1 1  Certainly, ' '  said  Kern,  very  gravely.  ' '  I 
wouldn't  think  of  involving  a  leading  citizen 
in  a  scandal  containing  your  name  without 
giving  him  a  chance  to  state  all  extenuating 
circumstances." 

Before  the  coroner  could  get  his  breath, 
Mr.  Landis  begged  permission,  and  took 
charge  without  waiting  for  it. 

"How  long  have  you  known  Mr.  Harte 
ley!" 

"About  three  years." 

"You  speak  this  morning  of  some  old 
grudge  as  a  possible  explanation  of  the  mur 
der.  In  the  time  that  you  have  known  Mr. 
Harteley,  have  you  ever  come  across  such  a 
grudge!" 

62 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 


i  ( 


'No,"  said  Kern  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"Then  your  theory  of  a  grudge  is  based 
on  your  reading  of  the  circumstances  of  the 
murder  itself?" 

"Yes." 

The  chief  and  the  coroner  consulted  to 
gether  in  whispers  after  Kern  left  the  stand. 
Evidently  they  disagreed  on  something.  Mr. 
Landis  was  appealed  to,  and  gave  his  vote 
with  a  single  shake  of  the  head.  It  was  evi 
dently  a  vote  for  the  chief,  for  the  coroner 
settled  back  in  his  chair  with  a  discontented 
grunt,  and  no  more  witnesses  were  called. 
The  verdict  of  wilful  murder  against  some 
person  or  persons  unknown  was  inevitable. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  in  the  world  Doc. 
wanted  to  do  and  didn't,"  said  Gray  as  the 
crowd  left  the  room.  "And  then  I'd  like  to 
know  why  he  didn't  do  it.  I  suppose  the 
police  have  some  clue  that  they  wanted  to 
salt  down."  A  big,  powerful,  sinister  look 
ing  man  with  a  scar  across  his  forehead  was 
just  behind  Gray. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  he  wanted  to  do," 
said  the  big  man.  "The  pinhead  thought  he 
had  something  that  was  going  to  mix  us  up 
in  his  little  old  murder  case." 

"Hello!  Stannard,"  said  Gray.     "Didn't 

63 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

see  you  here  at  all.  Let  me  introduce  my 
friend,  Mr.  Kern." 

"  We've  met  before,"  said  Stannard. 
"Want  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Kern,  for  the  way 
you  handled  that  yarn  about  the  Brotherhood 
being  mixed  up  in  this.  We  ain't  crying  any 
because  the  old  plute's  dead,  but  we  didn't 
bump  him  off." 

"I  was  quite  sure  you  didn't,"  said  Kern 
dryly,  and  his  eyes  narrowed  in  a  hostile 
look.  "It  didn't  look  like  one  of  your  jobs, 
at  all." 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Kern!  forget  it!"  exclaimed 
Gray  nervously.  The  big  man's  face  was  as 
immobile  as  if  whittled  from  oak. 

Kern  went  on,  grinning  sardonically  as 
he  spoke:  "I  think  this  is  a  rather  remark 
able  case,  though;  a  case  that  any  aspiring 
remover  of  objectionable  plutocrats  would  do 
well  to  study.  I  felt  sure  you  would  take  a 
deep  interest  in  the  matter.  Those  persons 
unknown  have  really  set  a  very  artistic  model 
in  the  killing  line." 

"It's  a  mighty  good  job,  whoever  done  it," 
said  the  big  man  with  conviction. 

Gray  looked  a  bit  shocked,  but  Kern  nodded 
solemnly,  and  said:  "I'm  sure  the  persons 
unknown  would  appreciate  your  compliment. 
Praise  from  Caesar,  you  know.  Good-by." 

64 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Three  or  four  days  after  the  inquest,  Kern 
went  down  to  see  Landis.  The  old  lawyer 
took  the  young  man  by  the  arm,  and  led  him 
into  the  private  office.  "Couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  to  badger  poor  old  Dr.  Lutgers 
the  other  day,  could  you?"  he  said. 

"Well,  he  badgered  me  first,"  retorted 
Kern.  "What  in  the  world  did  he  want  to 
put  me  on  the  stand  for?" 

"Just  to  annoy  you,  to  bring  out  the  fact 
that  you  had  been  attacking  Mr.  Harteley 
the  day  before  he  died — was  killed." 

"Well,  he  brought  out  the  fact,  all  right." 

"It  was  a  very  petty  business,  to  be  sure," 
acknowledged  Landis.  '  *  But  really,  lad,  some 
of  the  things  you  said  to  him  were  cruel." 

"Sorry  I  can't  feel  duly  repentant,"  said 
Kern.  "But  I  came  up  here  to  ask  a  favor 
of  you.  Can  you  loan  me,  for  an  indefinite 
period,  a  few  cubic  inches  of  space  in  your 
safe?" 

* '  Why,  surely, ' '  said  the  lawyer.  His  hand 
had  strayed  to  his  pocket  at  the  word  "loan," 
and  he  colored  a  bit  under  the  reporter's 
amused  glance.  "It  isn't  much  of  a  safe,  but 
it's  at  your  disposal  if  you're  willing  to  trust 
it." 

"I'm  willing,"  said  Kern.    He  handed  out 

5  65 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

a  small  package  that  seemed  to  be  a  paste 
board  box  wrapped  in  white  paper.  ' '  I  wish 
you'd  indorse  the  date  of  my  giving  it  to  you 
on  the  package,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  added. 
"That  is  really  the  chief  reason  for  bother 
ing  you  with  it,  instead  of  putting  it  in  a 
deposit  box." 

"All  right,"  consented  the  lawyer,  writing 
down  the  date  and  a  few  words  of  explanation 
on  the  paper  wrapping.  "Hope  this  isn't 
very  valuable.  My  safe  isn't  what  you  would 
call  burglar  proof. ' ' 

"It  will  probably  never  be  valuable  at  all," 
said  Kern.  '"Then  again,  it  may  be  like  the 
gun  in  Texas.  There's  someone  knocking." 

The  lawyer  closed  the  safe  with  Kern's 
package  inside  before  answering  the  knock 
at  the  door.  "Why,  Jeannette!"  he  said. 
"Come  in.  I  want  you  to  meet  a  friend  of 
mine.  Miss  Harteley,  Mr.  Kern." 

"I  owe  Mr.  Kern  some  thanks  already," 
said  the  girl.  "It  was  you  who  sent  the 
janitor's  wife  to  me  that  day  at  father's 
office,  was  it  not!" 

Kern  flushed  under  the  question.  "I 
thought  you  wanted  a  woman  by  you,  and 
she  was  the  only  one  available.  They  are 
very  nice  people,  too." 

66 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

''I  hadn't  heard  of  this,"  said  Landis. 

"Mr.  Kern  hasn't  been  telling  it,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Miss  Harteley.  "It  was  very 
thoughtful.  I  never  needed  anything  in  my 
life  so  much  as  I  needed  a  woman's  presence 

then.  Nobody  near  me  but  strange  men 

She  stopped  abruptly.  Kern,  blushing  like 
a  boy,  and  making  half  articulate  excuses, 
bowed  himself  out. 


CHAPTER   VII 

The  most  exalted  station  is  not  proof  against  that  human 
thing  called  misfortune.  Even  a  chief  of  police  has  troubles 
of  his  own. 

CHIEF  OF  POLICE,  Michael  Alonzo  Ken 
nedy,  better  known  as  Mike,  was  very  un 
happy.  That  was  indicated  by  his  frown, 
by  the  down-pulled  hat  brim  which  almost 
hid  the  frown,  by  the  angle  of  the  big  cigar 
which  seldom  left  his  lips — except  to  make 
room  for  another  of  the  same  sort.  The 
Harteley  case  was  now  some  weeks  old,  and 
Mike  had  made  absolutely  no  progress  toward 
solving  it;  of  which  fact  he  was  daily  re 
minded  by  the  newspapers.  Even  the  Herald, 
which  could  commonly  be  counted  on  to  see 
stars  at  noonday  if  the  police  declared  it 
night,  was  in  this  matter  rebellious ;  and  had 
solemnly  warned  the  chief  that  he  was  neg 
lecting  the  fountain  of  all  iniquity — namely, 
the  Brotherhood — to  hunt  for  a  supposed 
burglar  who  never  existed.  The  other 
papers  were  for  the  most  part  frankly  hos 
tile  ;  and  the  Star,  for  several  days,  had  kept 
standing  a  list  of  the  unpunished  murders  in 

68 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

the  city  during  the  chief's  term  of  office — 
with  the  chief's  picture  at  the  head  of  it. 

Now,  generally  speaking,  what  the  news 
papers  said  about  the  police  department 
troubled  Mike  Kennedy  not  at  all.  He  was 
not  thin-skinned,  nor,  in  the  ordinary  rela 
tions  of  life,  was  he  vindictive  or  malicious. 
Besides,  he  knew  his  strength.  Most  of  the 
plurality  vote  which  had  put  the  present 
mayor  in  office  had  come  from  the  Bad  Lands 
—where  Mike  as  captain  and  Billy  Brown 
as  lieutenant  had  herded  the  Under  World 
to  the  polls  to  vote  early  and  often ;  and  where 
opposition  clerks  and  watchers  were  rapped 
on  the  head — and  ridden  to  jail  in  a  patrol 
wagon.  Mike  had  earned  his  job,  accord 
ing  to  the  only  code  he  knew;  and  for  years 
had  never  doubted  that  the  mayor  took 
the  same  view  of  things.  But  now,  he 
had  received  word  that  "his  honor"  was 
seriously  displeased  about  the  lack  of  results 
in  the  Harteley  case.  Mike  knew  what 
that  intimation  meant.  Municipal  election 
was  less  than  a  year  away,  the  mayor  wanted 
another  term ;  and  with  the  Bad  Lands '  vote 
cut  down  by  the  new  registration  law,  Mike 
might  be  more  of  a  hindrance  than  a  help. 
The  Star  had  singled  him  out  as  the  weakest 

69 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

point  in  the  administration  line,  and  seldom 
let  a  day  go  by  without,  as  he  put  it, '  'whaling 
into  him."  A  few  days  before,  following  an 
audacious  hold-up  in  the  choicest  residence 
district,  the  Star  had  admonished  its  readers 
thus :  "If  you  are  robbed  on  your  way  home 
to-night,  remember  that  the  chief  of  police 
gets  fifteen  per  cent,  of  the  proceeds,  and 
look  cheerful."  Mike  could  have  proved  by 
competent  witnesses  that  his  percentage  was 
considerably  less  than  that  figure,  but  he 
doubted  whether  the  evidence  of  his  modera 
tion  would  greatly  help  him. 

It  was  up  to  Mike  to  do  something  to  stop 
the  mouths  of  his  critics;  and  he  could  not 
quite  see  how  to  do  it.  He  had  started  off 
with  perfect  confidence  in  the  Harteley  case; 
but  he  had  lost  feeling  now.  He  had  swept 
the  town  with  the  finest  dragnet  it  had  ever 
known ;  but  had  caught  not  a  single  promis 
ing  fish  in  those  meshes.  He  had  interrogated 
prisoners  with  blackjacks  and  knuckles,  and 
had  ground  out  of  them  many  marvellous 
lies,  but  none  which  could  serve  his  turn. 
Even  the  recent  hold-ups  were  proving 
strangely  hard  to  bring  home  to  anyone. 
That  very  morning  he  had  "questioned"  a 
couple  of  prisoners,  and  had  got  absolutely 

70 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

nothing.  He  had  turned  a  third  prisoner 
over  to  Billy,  and  was  even  now  waiting  to 
hear  the  results  of  the  examination.  But  he 
waited  without  hope.  Everything  was 
against  him,  he  told  himself;  all  his  hard 
work  had  gone  for  nothing,  and  pretty  soon, 
he  would  go,  likewise. 

"Hello,  Mike!"  said  a  cheery  voice;  and 
the  chief  swung  round  with  a  start,  and 
looked  up  into  the  face  of  Arthur  Kern. 
"Any  more  police  pipe-dreams  for  publica 
tion!" 

"  No ! "  said  the  chief  shortly.  * '  How  long 
have  you  been  there?  I  didn't  hear  you." 

"I  suspected  you  didn't,"  said  Kern. 
"Your  ear,  my  dear  chief,  is  delicate,  rather 
than  keen.  You  should  have  been  a  musical 
critic,  or  a  piano  tuner,  or  something  like 
that.  The  mere  detection  of  common,  vulgar 
sounds  is  too  coarse  work  for  your  fine 
nature." 

"Aw,  cut  it  out,"  said  the  chief.  "What's 
the  use  rubbin'  it  in?" 

"None,  if  you'll  play  fair,"  said  Kern. 
"But  whenever  you  give  the  Herald  a  story 
and  bump  our  man  on  it  as  you  did  yesterday, 
you  can  look  for  a  dose  like  the  one  you  got 
this  morning.  Like  it?" 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  "dose"  referred  to  was  a  tale  of  police 
extortion  in  the  Bad  Lands ;  a  story  of  how  two 
police  officials  had  quarrelled  over  the  illegal 
lootfromanillegalbusiness,and  how  Alike  had 
settled  the  case  by  confiscating  the  money  in 
dispute  to  the  permanent  campaign  fund.  It 
was  told  in  a  light,  incidental  sort  of  way 
that  carried  more  conviction  than  any  heavy 
attack  would  have  done;  and  had  the  addi 
tional  advantage  of  making  a  libel  suit  worse 
than  useless.  Most  of  the  story  was  true,  not 
literally,  but  artistically.  Kern  had  taken 
two  incidents  that  occurred  a  year  or  two 
apart,  fitted  them  together  in  careful  fashion, 
added  a  few  details;  and  the  result  was  a 
story  calculated,  as  he  remarked,  to  make 
the  administration's  hair  curl.  Mike's  mus 
tache  was  near  to  curling  now,  in  semi- 
righteous  wrath. 

"Like  it!"  he  exploded.  "That  was  a 
pretty  bunch  to  hand  a  man,  wasn't  it? 
You've  got  your  nerve  with  you,  comin'  down 
here  after  writing  a  thing  like  that!  Ain't 
your  blankety  blank  paper  got  anything  to 
publish  but  lies?  Ain't  I  always  been  square 
with  you?  I've  got  a  thunderin'  good  notion 
to  knock  your  block  off!" 

"You've  twice  as  good  a  notion  not  to," 

72 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

laughed  Kern,  settling  himself  in  a  chair. 
"My  'block'  is  stuck  on  a  lot  tighter  than 
your  job  is  just  now,  not  to  mention  the  other 
difficulties  in  the  way.  And  you  weren't 
square,  which  is  why  you  got  your  medicine. 
You  thought  because  we  had  a  cub  on  duty 
that  you  could  give  the  Herald  a  first  page 
scoop,  and  get  away  with  it.  Every  time  you 
try  that  little  trick,  I'm  going  to  get  you. 
See?" 

Apparently  the  chief  saw,  but  he  did  not 
think  fit  to  make  his  visions  public.  He  gave 
a  dissatisfied  grunt,  and  put  his  feet  on  the 
desk  again.  Kern  looked  him  over  with  a 
contemplative  air. 

"You  don't  seem  happy,  Mike.  What's  the 
trouble  ?" 

"Go  to  hell!"  said  the  chief. 

"Thank  you  for  the  invitation,  but  I 
couldn't  think  of  accepting  till  the  host  is 
there  to  receive  me.  Is  Sponsilier  holding 
out  on  you?" 

"No." 

"Then  what  is  it?"  asked  Kern.  "You 
surely  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  laundry 
business  is  playing  out?" 

This  laundry  allusion  requires  a  bit  of  ex 
planation  for  the  general  reader,  though  Mike 

73 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

•understood  it  readily  enough.  Every  one 
knows,  of  course,  that  the  entire  liquor  trade 
in  every  city  is  subject  to  a  host  of  police 
regulations.  Few  of  these  regulations  are 
ever  enforced.  Most  of  them  cannot  be  en 
forced  in  most  cities  as  a  city- wide  rule ;  but 
they  can  always  be  made  to  spell  destruction 
to  any  particular  liquor  dealer  who  "gets  in 
bad  with  the  front  office."  Suppose,  for  in 
stance,  that  a  hotel  with  a  bar  has  built  up  a 
clientage  whose  alcoholic  thirst  does  not  auto 
matically  cease  Saturday  night,  to  be  renewed 
Monday  morning.  The  serving  of  liquor  on 
Sunday  is  unlawful  in  most  cities ;  and  if  the 
police  choose  to  enforce  this  particular  rule 
against  this  particular  hotel  keeper,  he  is 
badly  injured. 

Now,  hotels  and  saloons  and  restaurants 
with  bars  have  very  large  laundry  bills,  and 
their  trade  is  a  big  item  to  a  laundry  in  these 
days  of  sharp  competition.  Every  one  knows 
that,  too ;  but  few  have  ever  thought  of  con 
necting  a  liquor  dealer's  demand  for  clean 
linen  with  his  desire  for  what  he  calls  a 
"liberal  enforcement"  of  the  excise  ordi 
nances.  Mike  had  thought  of  it,  or  someone 
had  thought  of  it  for  him.  Practically  every 
saloon  in  the  city,  half  the  hotels,  and  two 

74 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

thirds  of  the  restaurants  that  served  liquor, 
patronized  the  same  laundry — and  the  chief 
owned  a  large  block  of  stock  in  that  laundry. 
The  Star  made  frequent  and  unkind  allusions 
to  Mike's  unusual  business  enterprise,  and 
on  one  occasion  had  cartooned  that  particular 
laundry  trying  to  wash  the  dirty  linen  of  the 
city  hall.  Mike  swore  viciously  as  Kern 
touched  the  raw  spot;  then  took  his  feet 
down,  and  faced  the  reporter. 

"Say,"  he  said.  "You've  got  the  goods 
on  me.  This  ain't  for  publication  now,  but 
I  'm  all  in.  I  can 't  get  no  line  on  this  Harteley 
business  at  all.  If  you've  got  wise  to  any 
thing  that  we've  overlooked,  I'll  make  it 
worth  your  while  to  put  us  next." 

Kern  laughed.  "Now  you're  talking 
business,"  he  said.  "But  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  help  you.  I  told  my  notion  of  the  thing, 
right  at  the  time — yes,  that's  honest.  This 
is  no  second-story  job.  Whoever  did  this 
work  had  thought  it  out  to  the  last  hair,  and 
he  or  they  didn't  leave  any  clues.  The  only 
thing  I  saw  that  you  didn't  is  that  skinned 
knuckle,  and  you  didn't  have  to  pay  for  that." 

"What  kind  of  a  job  is  it,  then!"  said  the 
chief. 

"If  you'd  read  the  Star,  you'd  know,"  said 

75 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Kern.  "Harteley  was  always  walking  rough 
shod  over  everything  that  got  in  his  way,  and 
sometime  or  other,  he  stepped  on  the  wrong 
man.  That's  all.  You'll  have  to  look  for 
that  man.  That's  my  notion,  and  I  couldn't 
give  you  any  better  advice  if  you  offered  me 
half  the  laundry  for  it." 

"Damn  the  laundry!"  said  the  chief,  irri 
tably.  "Your  dope's  no  good.  Harteley's 
walked  on  too  many  fellows.  We  can't  find 
'em  all." 

1 '  Then  you'll  never  find  the  one  you  want, ' ' 
said  Kern.  "Hello,  Billy!"  For  the  king  of 
Brown  County  had  just  entered,  looking  more 
sour  than  usual.  He  shook  his  head  in  answer 
to  the  chief's  inquiring  glance.  "Nothin' 
doin',"  he  said. 

"Gee,  you're  a  sour  bunch  down  here  this 
morning,"  said  Kern.  "Couldn't  you  make 
him  come  through,  Billy?" 

"None  o'  your  business!"  said  the  chief 
of  detectives. 

"Of  course  it  isn't,"  said  Kern.  "If  it 
were  my  business,  I'd  know  without  asking. 
Say,  Billy,  you  ought  to  put  rubber  around 
that  gun  barrel  of  yours,  so  it  wouldn't  leave 
a  scar  when  you  swat  a  fellow  with  it.  Jack 
Sponsilier  says  you've  clean  ruined  his 

76 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

beauty.    He's  going  to  sue  you  for  damages." 

''Let  him  try  it!"  snarled  the  little  man. 
"Let  him—  '  The  chief's  laugh  interrupted 
his  further  remarks. 

"Can't  you  see  he's  stringin'  you?"  asked 
Mike.  '  *  Say,  Kern,  on  the  level,  now,  is  that 
the  best  tip  you  can  give?" 

"On  the  level,  it  is,  Mike,"  asserted  Kern, 
dropping  his  bantering  tone.  "It's  just  as  I 
told  you  at  the  start.  There's  nothing  to  go 
on ;  no  finger  marks,  no  writing,  no  weapons, 
no  anything." 

"But  the  rings,"  insisted  the  chief. 

"At  present,  there  are  no  rings,"  said 
Kern.  "When  one  of  them  turns  up  in  a 
pawnshop  somewhere,  it'll  be  a  clue,  and  not 
till  then.  Now,  I  Ve  told  you  all  I  know,  what 
are  you  going  to  tell  me!" 

"There  ain't  anything,"  said  the  chief 
earnestly. 

"All  right,"  answered  Kern.  "You  know 
what '11  happen  to  you  if  you  try  to  give  the 
cub  the  wrong  steer  again.  So  long."  The 
chief  answered  pleasantly,  the  little  man 
grunted,  and  Kern  was  gone. 

"Nothing  at  all,  Billy?"  asked  the  chief. 

1  i  Naw ! ' '  snarled  the  detective.  ' '  He  hadn  't 
nothin'  to  tell."  The  tone  of  the  remark 

77 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

seemed  to  imply  that  it  is  a  very  serious 
offence  not  to  have  guilty  knowledge  of  a 
crime  when  the  chief  of  detectives  asks  you 
about  it. 

"Billy,"  said  the  chief,  speaking  with 
deadly  seriousness,  "somebody's  got  to  have 
something  to  tell  about  this  Harteley  busi 
ness.  The  head  push  has  passed  the  word 
that  we've  got  to  find  the  guys  that  worked 
that  job,  or  get  out!" 

"No!"  said  Billy,  in  surprise.  He  spoke 
of  the  mayor's  ancestors  for  some  moments 
before  coming  back  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
"Well,  we've  been  up  agin  worse  games  an' 
come  through,"  was  his  conclusion.  "I'm 
goin'  down  to  Sponsilier's  for  a  while." 

"Don't  do  nothin'  rash,  Billy,"  called  the 
chief.  The  little  man  jerked  his  head  to 
signify  that  he  had  heard,  and  slouched 
along.  The  chief  settled  back  for  another 
uncomfortable  smoke. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

The  letters  which  men  write  live  after  them. 

THE  day  after  the  visit  to  Mike  was  Kern's 
day  off ;  and  by  way  of  celebrating  that  fact, 
he  was  on  his  way  down  town  two  hours 
ahead  of  his  usual  time.  He  had  heard  a 
story  of  some  gifts  which  Miss  Harteley 
proposed  to  make,  and  was  on  his  way  to 
see  Mr.  Landis  to  verify  or  disprove  the  ac 
count.  With  him  was  Gray,  who  had  brought 
him  the  tip;  and  the  two  men  were  discuss 
ing  the  matter  as  they  walked  along. 

''It's  a  good  story  if  it's  true,"  remarked 
Kern.  "How  did  you  hear  of  it!  You  said 
Mrs.  Colvin  didn't  tell  you." 

"You  forget  that  our  good  socialist 
preacher  is  on  the  executive  board  of  the  day 
nursery,"  said  Gray.  "I  got  it  from  him." 

"Did  you  hear  how  much  she  was  going 
to  give  the  day  nursery?" 

"No.  Only  that  she  was  going  to  give  it 
enough  to  free  it  from  the  need  of  getting 
annual  subscriptions." 

"That  is  to  say,  enough  to  make  it  use 
less,"  said  Kern.  "The  only  organized 

79 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

charity  worth  a  cuss  is  the  one  that  has  to 
fight  for  its  very  existence." 

' '  Well,  it  had  better  go  to  the  day  nursery 
than  to  those  memorial  chapels  and  windows 
and  college  halls  and  things,"  argued  Gray. 

1  'Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Kern.  " Think 
of  the  honest  workingmen  who  find  their 
chosen  work  in  building  those  halls  and 
chapels.  She  might  do  worse." 

" That's  true,"  Gray  assented.  "She  might 
use  it  as  her  father  did.  Well,  here  you  are. ' ' 

"Won't  you  come  up?"  asked  Kern. 
"Landis  won't  bite  you.  If  you  keep  real 
quiet,  the  chances  are  he  won't  suspect  you're 
a  socialist.  You  really  don't  look  it,  you 
know. ' ' 

"If  I  thought  I  looked  like  the  bunch  he's 
tied  up  with,  I'd  hang  myself,"  retorted' 
Gray.  "You'll  have  to  interview  your  own 
plutes." 

Mr.  Landis  was  busy,  said  the  stenog 
rapher.  He  would  probably  be  through  in  a 
few  minutes.  Kern  took  a  seat,  and  waited. 
A  murmur  of  voices,  mainly  feminine,  came 
from  the  inner  office.  Presently  the  door 
opened. 

"Why,  here's  Mr.  Kern  now,"  said  a 
familiar  voice;  and  Kern  looked  up  to  see 

80 


Mrs.  Colvin  standing  in  the  doorway.  Be 
hind  her  was  Miss  Harteley,  with  lowered 
veil;  and  yet  farther  back  was  the  well 
groomed  figure  of  Landis.  Miss  Harteley 
bowed  to  Kern,  and  then  turned  back  to  the 
inner  office,  drawing  Mrs.  Colvin  after  her. 
The  murmur  of  voices  was  heard  again,  an 
argumentative  note  in  all  of  them ;  and  then 
Mr.  Landis  came  to  the  door  alone. 

''Will  you  come  in,  please?"  he  said. 

Kern  came  in,  wondering  vastly,  but  show 
ing  an  impassive  face.  There  was  an  evi 
dent  air  of  tension  about  the  party.  Miss 
Harteley 's  veil  was  raised,  and  a  glance 
showed  that  she  had  been  crying. 

"Mr.  Kern,"  said  the  lawyer,  "these 
ladies  want  to  ask  your  advice  on  one  or  two 
matters.  Can  you  spare  the  time  to  give 
it?" 

Kern  noted  the  form  of  the  statement,  and 
guessed  at  once  that  the  ladies  had  carried 
their  point  against  Mr.  Landis 's  best  objec 
tions.  "Certainly  I  have  the  time,"  he 
smiled.  '  *  But  my  advice  has  never  been  much 
in  demand  by  those  who  know  me." 

"I'll  state  the  first  proposition,"  said  Mr. 
Landis.  "Jeannette  wants  to  increase  the 
reward  for  the  capture  of  the  persons  who 

6  81 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

murdered  her  father.  It's  $5000  now.  She 
wrote  it  $25,000  in  the  first  place,  but  told 
the  printer  to  bring  the  proofs  to  me  for 
correction.  I  thought  it  must  be  a  mistake, 
and  cut  off  the  first  figure.  Now,  she  wants 
to  put  it  back." 

"I  beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said 
Kern,  as  the  young  woman  turned  to  him  in 
inquiry  at  the  close  of  the  lawyer's  statement. 
"If  you  put  up  a  reward  like  that,  it  would 
probably  get  a  man  hanged,  but  not  the 
right  man." 

"That's  almost  what  Mr.  Landis  said." 
Miss  Harteley's  forehead  drew  down  for  a 
moment  in  a  puzzled  frown.  ' 1 1  may  be  very 
dull,  but  I  don't  understand  how  a  reward 
would  endanger  anyone  but  the  guilty." 

"There  are  thousands  of  scoundrels  who 
would  murder  a  man  for  a  good  deal  less  than 
$25,000,"  urged  Kern.  "Some  of  them  are 
educated  scoundrels.  Offer  a  reward  like 
that,  and  every  perjury  mill  would  start 
work  at  once,  trying  to  grind  out  a  fictitious 
case  that  would  take  the  prize." 

"Are  there  really  people  so  base  as  that?" 

"Someone  was  base  enough,  as  you  put  it, 
to  kill  your  father,"  said  Kern  bluntly.  "The 
ethical  distinction  between  killing  a  man  with 

82 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

a  knife,  and  killing  him  with  a  well  told  lie 
wouldn't  appeal  to  quite  a  number  of  people 
I  know.  In  fact,  they'd  prefer  the  lie,  as 
being  safer." 

"But  how  could  a  lie  of  that  kind  find 
credit?"  Miss  Harteley  seemed  honestly 
puzzled  to  understand  the  matter.  Mr. 
Landis  shook  his  head,  and  laughed  mirth 
lessly.  Kern  fished  around  in  his  memory 
for  some  instance  to  illustrate  his  point, 
found  it,  and  dropped  it  as  useless.  It  would 
mean  nothing  to  the  girl  before  him.  He 
tried  another  tack. 

"Miss  Harteley,  there  isn't  a  day  that 
some  outrageous  lie  doesn't  find  credit  among 
people  of  twice  the  intelligence  of  the  aver 
age  juryman.  Mr.  Landis  will  tell  you,  I 
am  sure,  that  with  all  the  precautions  for  a 
fair  trial  of  every  accused  man,  there  are 
cases  where  false  swearing  or  public  preju 
dice  has  condemned  admittedly  innocent 
victims — admitted  to  be  innocent  now,  I 
mean.  Knowing  that,  can  you  afford  to  take 
a  chance  by  hanging  a  prize  like  the  sum  you 
mention  before  the  eyes  of  every  scoundrel 
in  the  country?" 

"I  suppose  I  must  be  wrong,"  said  the 
girl  wearily.  ' '  We  won 't  increase  the  reward 

83 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

yet,  anyway."  She  looked  inquiringly  from 
Mrs.  Colvin  to  Mr.  Landis.  Mrs.  Colvin  nod 
ded  vigorously.  Mr.  Landis  smiled. 

4 'All  right,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Kern,  there's 
a  very  private  matter  on  which  Mrs.  Colvin 
would  like  to  test  your  detective  powers  be 
fore  calling  in  the  aid  of  a  regular  agency; 
and  she's  persuaded  Jeannette  to  join  in  the 
request.  Can  we  impose  on  you  a  little 
farther?" 

"Evidently  you're  not  persuaded,"  Kern 
demurred.  "There's  no  imposition;  but  I 
caution  you  that  Mrs.  Colvin  has  vastly  ex 
aggerated  my  achievements  in  that  line." 

"You  understand  this  must  on  no  account 
get  into  print,"  warned  Mr.  Landis.  "It's 
a  very  difficult  thing — a  case  of  blackmail,  of 
attempted  blackmail  rather—  '  He  stopped, 
hesitating  how  to  proceed.  Miss  Harteley 
went  abruptly  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"Someone  is  trying  to  blacken  my  father's 
memory.  Someone  who  wants  money.  I'd 
give  the  money,  I  wanted  to  give  it,  but  Mr. 
Landis  says  that  would  only  make  things 
worse." 

"True,  always  true,"  agreed  Kern  em 
phatically. 

The  girl  hesitated,  twisting  something  in 

84 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

her  hands.  It  was  a  terribly  hard  subject 
to  state  to  a  comparative  stranger.  She  had 
not  realized  its  full  difficulty  before.  Mr. 
Landis  came  gently  to  the  rescue.  "Shall 
I!"  he  asked,  reaching  out  his  hand.  Miss 
Harteley  nodded.  The  lawyer  took  an  en 
velope  and  laid  it  in  Kern's  hand.  The  girl 
turned  abruptly  away,  and  pulled  down  her 
veil. 

"Here  is  a  letter  that  Miss  Harteley  got 
this  morning,"  said  Landis. 

It  was  a  letter  enclosed  in  a  common 
stamped  envelope,  and  written  on  the  most 
aggressively  ordinary  paper.  There  was  but 
one  sheet,  and  the  writing  was  plainly  dis 
guised. 

"Miss  Harteley:  If  you  want  to  do  busi 
ness  with  me,  put  an  ad  in  the  Herald  that 
says  so,  and  sign  it  'Heiress.'  If  I  don't  hear 
from  you  to-morrow,  I'll  begin  shipping  the 
goods.  You  needn't  try  to  ring  in  that  snippy 
little  lawyer  of  yours,  neither." 

There  was  no  signature. 

"This  isn't  this  party's  first  experience 

in  blackmail,"  Kern  declared.    He  held  it  to 

the  light,  looking  for  water  marks,  and  to 

his  nose,  in  search  of  perfume.    "It's  from 

'  he  said,  and  stopped  in  time  to  cut 

85 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

off  the  words  "a  woman,"  though  every  one 
in  the  room  knew  what  he  had  started  to 
say. 

"The  perfume  is  violet,"  explained  Miss 
Harteley,  as  Kern  put  it  to  his  nose  a  second 
time. 

' '  Thank  you, ' '  said  Kern  gravely.  He  was 
not  thinking  of  perfumes  just  then.  "You've 
had  other  letters  before  this  one?" 

"Yes." 

"By  ' shipping  the  goods,'  I  suppose  the 
party  writing  means  sending  something  to 
the  newspapers?" 

"No,  to  my  mother.  There  was  a  letter 
to  her  this  morning.  I  opened  it — it  looked 
like  this  one. ' '  She  turned  away  again.  Mr. 
Landis  spoke. 

"You  see  the  situation,  Mr.  Kern.  It's 
easy  to  punish  this  sort  of  thing,  but  impos 
sible  to  do  it  without  a  scandal.  This — party 
— has  no  doubt  built  up  a  plausible  lie  that 
would  exactly  suit  the  gossips  of  the  city. 
I  propose  to  employ  the  Pinkertons,  who  are 
used  to  such  cases." 

"Have  you  engaged  them  yet?" 

"No." 

"Then  don't  do  it  for  twenty- four  hours. 
I  may  be  able  to  help  some  on  this  case.  If 

86 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

I  fall  down,  there's  still  time  for  the  Pinker- 
tons.  May  I  take  this  letter  with  me?" 

Miss  Harteley  assented. 

"I  think  Miss  Harteley  had  better  watch 
the  mails,  don't  you?"  Kern  addressed  the 
question  to  Landis.  " She'd  better  open  any 
letters  to  her  mother  that  looked  at  all  sus 
picious.  I'll  report  to  you  here  before  night. 
Good-by." 

He  backed  out.  The  old  lawyer  looked 
quizzically  at  Mrs.  Colvin. 

"Your  young  friend  will  never  need  a 
nerve  tonic,"  he  asserted. 

1 '  Someone  else  will  need  a  tonic  by  the  time 
he  gets  through  with  them,"  defended  his 
champion  stoutly. 


CHAPTER    IX 

It  is  pleasant  to  renew  old  acquaintances,  but  the  pleasure 
is  sometimes  unequally  distributed. 

KEEN'S  first  act  on  reaching  the  sidewalk 
was  to  stop  and  swear  with  a  cultured  em 
phasis  vastly  amusing  to  a  couple  of  passers 
who  happened  near  enough  to  overhear  his 
devotions.  That  ceremony  finished,  to  the 
evident  relief  of  his  feelings,  he  walked  to 
the  corner,  stood  considering  a  few  moments, 
and  then  made  for  the  Star  office. 

The  Star  had  a  remarkable  collection  of 
bound  files  of  newspapers;  including  not 
only  its  own  numbers,  and  those  of  its  local 
competitors,  but  papers  from  every  large 
city  in  the  United  States.  Kern  went  straight 
to  the  shelves  which  held  the  files  of  a  New 
Orleans  paper;  and  after  a  moment's  search, 
settled  down  with  a  big  volume  at  the  reading 
table. 

"Going  pretty  far  south  for  a  wallop  at 
the  administration,  aren't  you?"  asked  the 
cub,  who  exercised  a  cub's  privilege  of  hap 
pening  in  anywhere  at  any  time. 

"I'm  going  to  the  right  place  for  what  I 
want,  my  child,"  declared  Kern.  "Look 

88 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

liere,  kiddy,  did  you  ever  see  that  lady ! ' '  He 
indicated  a  picture. 

"Yes,  I've  seen  her  in  this  town,  I  think. 
Who  is  she?" 

"I  don't  know  who  she  is  now.  I'm  going 
to  see.  Keep  this  under  your  hat."  Kern 
read  for  a  few  minutes  longer ;  then  put  back 
the  volume  and  went  out.  After  a  ten  minute 
ride  on  the  street  car,  he  climbed  the  steps 
of  the  end  apartment  of  a  small  but  stylish 
looking  terrace,  noting  with  a  smile  that  the 
next  flat  was  empty,  but  had  no  rent  card  in 
the  window.  The  maid  answered  his  ring. 

"I  want  to  see  your  mistress,"  said  Kern, 
pushing  open  the  door  with  scant  courtesy, 
and  stepping  inside.  The  maid,  puzzled  at 
his  assurance,  indicated  a  chair  in  the  par 
lor.  He  entered  the  room,  but  remained 
standing.  The  sound  of  voices  came  from  the 
rear,  and  then  the  curtains  parted,  and  a 
large,  bold  looking  woman  swept  into  the 
room.  She  was  overdressed,  just  as  her 
parlor  was  overfurnished,  but  she  was  un 
deniably  handsome  in  a  rather  coarse 
fashion.  Kern  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Greenway,"  he  said. 

The  woman  started  back  as  if  he  had 
struck  her,  and  her  high  colored  face  went 
dead  pale.  She  looked  at  Kern  with  the  wide 

89 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

eyes  of  panic;  and  then,  collecting  herself 
with  a  manifest  effort,  she  spoke  curtly. 

" You've  made  a  mistake.  My  name's 
Evans.  I  have  an  engagement,  and  you'll 
have  to  excuse  me." 

Kern  laughed  cruelly  and  sat  down,  draw 
ing  his  trousers  loose  at  the  knees  with  all 
imaginable  deliberation.  The  woman  flushed 
to  the  roots  of  her  yellow  hair  as  she  watched 
him. 

''No,  I  haven't  made  any  mistake,"  he 
drawled.  "So  your  name's  Evans,  now,  is 
it!  Well,  it  used  to  be  Greenway,  when  I 
knew  you  down  in  New  Orleans.  Would  you 
mind  introducing  me  to  Mr.  Evans?" 

There  was  a  look  of  quiet  mercilessness  in 
the  reporter's  face  more  daunting  than  any 
threat.  The  woman  came  closer,  and  stared 
at  him.  "Who  are  you!"  she  demanded  ab 
ruptly.  "And  what  do  you  want!" 

"You're  inquisitive,"  fenced  Kern.  "I 
don't  wonder  you  fail  to  recognize  me.  I 
wasn't  on  your  visiting  list  those  days,  but 
I  saw  you  every  day — in  court — for  quite  a 
spell;  and  I  couldn't  dream  of  forgetting 
you.  That  was  a  shocking  business,  Mr.  Gif- 
ford  killing  himself  that  way." 

The  woman  whirled  toward  the  hall,  and 

90 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

drew  the  sliding  doors.  As  she  faced  Kern 
once  more,  with  terror  in  every  line  of  her 
features,  that  calm  gentleman  went  on: 

"I  was  noticing  your  picture  in  the  news 
paper  files  to-day,  and  you  haven't  changed 
much.  You're  quite  as  beautiful  as  ever.  Do 
you  know,  if  you  had  been  a  homely  woman, 
I  believe  you'd  have  got  ten  years  instead 
of  three.  Gilford's  family  are  pretty  prom 
inent  down  there,  and  you  know  family 
counts  in  the  South." 

"For  God's  sake,  what  do  you  want!"  The 
woman  was  pale  again,  and  breathing  as  if 
from  a  race.  "What  do  you  want?  Tell  me 
what  you  want!"  She  looked  round  like  a 
trapped  animal. 

' '  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon, ' '  said  Kern,  half- 
absently.  "You  asked  me  that  before,  but 
I  was  so  busy  recalling  old  times.  Well,  I 
want  all  the  letters  and  other  papers  in  your 
possession  which  in  any  way  relate  to  Mr. 
William  Harteley,  lately  deceased.  You  will 
oblige  me  by  handing  them  over." 

"So  that's  your  game,  is  it?"  said  the 
woman.  She  studied  him  narrowly  for  a 
moment  while  her  breathing  grew  steadier, 
and  her  color  came  partly  back.  "So  that's 
your  game.  Well,  you  can  take  yourself  off. 

91 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

I  haven't  got  any  of  Harteley's  papers,  and 
if  I  had,  I  wouldn't  give  'em  to  you.  You 
can  chase  yourself." 

"I  can,  but  will  I?"  said  Kern.  "Speak 
ing  from  present  inclinations,  I  suspect  I 
won't.  Your  picture  wasn't  the  only  thing  I 
was  looking  up  to-day,  Mrs.  Greenway. ' ' 

"Evans,"  she  corrected. 

"Evans,  of  course,"  he  agreed.  "I'm  sure 
I  should  like  to  meet  Mr.  Evans  some  day. 
But  to  come  back  to  the  point:  The  state 
had  two  charges  against  you,  Mrs. — ah, 
Evans.  One  was  swindling,  obtaining  money 
under  false  pretences ;  and  one  was  just  plain 
stealing.  Do  you  remember?" 

She  did  not  answer.  Kern  looked  her  over 
as  a  cat  might  inspect  a  large  but  helpless 
mouse. 

"Well,  they  tried  you  on  the  stealing 
charge;  and,  thanks  to  your  beauty,  as  I 
said  before,  you  got  only  three  years.  But 
the  other  charge  wasn't  dismissed,  and — it 
isn't  outlawed.  It  still  holds  good,  Mrs.— 
say,  mayn't  I  call  you  Greenway?  Please? 
The  name  recalls  those  happy  days  of  yore, 
you  know." 

"You're  lying,"  said  the  woman.  "The 
charge  was  dismissed." 

"When  I  lie,"  said  Kern.     "I  put  my 

92 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

whole  mind  to  it,  and,  as  a  consequence,  no 
one  ever  doubts  me.  This  time,  I'm  telling 
the  truth.  You  ought  to  remember  it.  The 
governor  was  foolish  enough  to  pardon  you 
when  you  had  only  six  months  to  serve ;  and 
then  there  was  an  awful  roar,  and  they  dug 
up  the  other  charge  and  were  going  to  arrest 
you  again.  You  cleared  out,  and  they  didn't 
look  very  hard  for  you.  But  if  I  should  wire 
them  where  you  are,  I'm  sure  they  would 
feel  it  a  duty  to  put  you  on  trial  again,  if  only 
for  the  purpose  of  clearing  your  character. 
Those  Southerners  are  very  chivalrous,  you 
know.  And  I  know  Mike  Kennedy  would 
be  glad  to  furnish  you  free  lodgings  until  an 
escort  could  arrive  to  pilot  you  back  to  the 
sunny  South.  Ever  examine  the  women's 
ward  of  the  jail?" 

Without  answering,  the  woman  stepped 
past  him,  and  picked  up  a  vase  from  the 
mantel.  From  this,  she  took  a  couple  of 
tightly  rolled  letters  and  smoothed  them  in 
her  hand.  Crossing  the  room  to  a  music 
stand,  she  dug  a  copy  of  "Aida"  from  under 
the  pile  of  sheet  music ;  and  opening  the  score 
at  several  places,  took  out  other  letters.  Kern 
watched  her  with  a  smile.  She  looked  over 
the  collection,  and  handed  them  to  him. 

93 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

" These  are  all  I  have,"  she  said.  "I 
know  you  now,  though  I  can't  remember  your 
name.  Most  likely  I  never  heard  it.  You 
are  the  reporter  who  found  those  hidden 
bonds." 

Kern  bowed  his  acknowledgments.  "Are 
you  sure  these  are  all?"  he  asked. 

"They  are  all,"  she  said  steadily.  "I  owe 
you  a  number  of  things,  it  seems.  Someday, 
I'll  pay  you  out,  too.  You  didn't  find  the 
money,  anyway." 

"No,"  assented  Kern.  "I  didn't  find  the 
money,  and  since  I  didn't,  those  diamonds 
are  probably  real.  If  I  had  found  the  money, 
they'd  be  paste — unless,  of  course,  they  came 
from  your  latest  admirer." 

"I  do  my  own  diamond  buying,"  said  the 
woman.  "Only  thing  of  that  sort  he  gave 
me  was  an  opal  pin,  and  some  burglar  went 
through  the  flat  and  swiped  that  a  day  or 
so  before  he  was  killed." 

"While  you  were  at  the  matinee,  I  sup 
pose,"  scoffed  Kern.  "Very  unfortunate. 
Now,  I'll  trouble  you  to  write  a  little  note 
at  the  bottom  of  this  paper."  He  smoothed 
out  the  anonymous  letter  given  him  by  Miss 
Harteley.  "You  will  please  write  below  here 
that  you  acknowledge  this  as  your  work,  and 

94 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

that  your  object  in  sending  this  letter  was  to 
extort  money  from  Miss  Harteley.  You  may 
sign  your  name  Greenway,  too;  unless  Mr. 
Evans  is  so  close  it  would  hurt  his  feelings." 

"I'll  see  you — hanged  first!"  The  blonde 
woman's  voice  was  tense  with  fury.  Kern 
rose  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

"All  right.  I'll  look  in  on  you  at  the 
jail  for  old  sakes'  sake.  I'm  afraid  you'll 
miss  your  piano.  Good-by."  His  hand  was 
on  the  outer  door  when  the  woman  called 
to  him. 

"Wait!"  she  said  in  a  smothered  voice. 
"  If  I  write  what  you  want,  what  will  you  do 
with  it?" 

Kern  came  back  into  the  room.  "I  shall 
put  it  in  the  hands  of  Miss  Harteley 's*  lawyer. 
If  you  happen  to  find  any  more  letters  and 
tilings,  and  annoy  Miss  Harteley  with  them, 
the  lawyer  will  refer  to  this  little  document, 
and  take  such  action  as  seems  necessary. 
Otherwise,  it  won't  be  used." 

"Honest?" 

"Honest  Injun,"  promised  Kern.  "Cross 
my  heart  and  hope  to  die." 

"I'll  do  it,"  she  said.  Kern  laid  the  paper 
on  the  score  of  ' '  Aida, ' '  and  held  it  with  one 
hand  while  he  proffered  his  fountain  pen. 

95 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  woman  wrote  the  required  statement, 
and  signed  it  with  a  flourish.  Then  from  the 
bosom  of  her  dress,  she  produced  three  more 
letters. 

"You  might  as  well  take  these,  too,"  she 
said.  Kern  looked  at  them,  and  pocketed 
them  with  a  smile.  "It  might  be  safer,"  he 
answered.  ' i  But  that  wasn  't  where  I  thought 
you  were  keeping  them.  I  had  spotted  that 
photograph  album  as  their  abiding  place." 

"You  devil!"  said  Mrs.  Greenway.  "You 
cunning,  sneaking  devil !  They  called  you  the 
marquis  down  there — I  remember  now.  I'll 
remember  this,  too." 

"The  Marquis  of  Queensbury,"  corrected 
Kern  suavely.  "I  thought  it  was  a  good  pen 
name,  didn't  you?  On  the  level,  now,  haven't 
you  kept  these  things  in  that  album?" 

"Sometimes,"  the  woman  reluctantly 
answered. 

' '  Thank  you, ' '  said  Kern.  '  *  If  you  're  sure 
you've  parted  with  all  of  them  there  won't 
be  any  danger  to  you  in  case  something  turns 
up.  Give  my  regards  to  Mr.  Evans."  He 
bowed  with  ceremonious  courtesy,  and  passed 
out. 

"You're  back  early,"  greeted  Landis  an 
hour  later.  He  closed  the  door  of  his  office, 

96 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

and  turned  an  inquiring  face  to  the  reporter. 
"Did  you  find  out  anything!" 

"A  little."  Kern  tossed  the  letters  on 
the  table,  and  held  out  the  written  statement 
of  Mrs.  Greenway.  The  lawyer  read  the 
statement.  Then  he  seized  the  letters.  They 
were  all  in  Harteley's  handwriting.  He 
stared  in  utter  amazement  at  the  amused  face 
of  the  reporter. 

"What  in  the  world—  '  he  began,  and 
stopped.  "  How  on  earth  did  you  get  these  ? ' ' 
he  asked.  "I  don't  understand— 

"I  knew  where  to  look  for  them,"  said 
Kern.  "You  will  notice  that  the  fair  lady 
acknowledges  her  motive." 

"But  how  did  you  know  where  to  look  for 
them!"  persisted  the  lawyer. 

' '  Well,  I  once  reported  the  trial  that  ended 
in  sending  the  woman  to  the  pen.  But  tell 
me,  didn't  you  know  that  Harteley  was  cor 
responding  with  her,  and  meeting  her  in  St. 
Louis;  and  that  she  came  here  to  bleed  him 
more  thoroughly?" 

"No,  I  didn't  know  it,"  admitted  Landis. 
"I  heard  some  talk  of  the  sort,  but  it  never 
came  to  me  directly.  Do  you  think  you  got 
all  the  letters?" 

"'Looks    like    enough,"    shrugged    Kern. 

97 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"She  knows  what  will  happen  to  her  if  she 
tries  to  use  any  leftovers.  That  little  con 
fession  she  signed  makes  those  letters  unsafe 
property  for  her  flat." 

"I'd  like  to  offer  you  something  for  this 
job,  Mr.  Kern,"  said  the  lawyer. 

Kern  shook  his  head. 

"Charge  it  off  against  the  rent  of  part  of 
your  safe.  By  the  way,  I  know  the  mystery 
of  the  second  stick-pin  in  Harteley's  case. 
He  gave  it  to  this  fair  and  fickle  dame,  and 
it  was  stolen  from  her  flat  a  day  or  two  be 
fore  Harteley  was  killed." 

' '  No ! ' '  exclaimed  the  lawyer. 

"That's  what  she  told  me." 

"Well,  of  all  things!  Say,  please  add  to 
your  kindness  by  keeping  that  out  of  the 
paper." 

"Of  course,"  laughed  the  reporter  rather 
grimly.  "A  gentleman  with  two  establish 
ments  is  liable  to  mislay  his  jewelry  most  any 
time.  Might  happen  to  anyone.  We'll  draw 
the  veil  of  silence." 


CHAPTER   X 

The  penalty  of  achievement  lies  in  being  asked  to  do  it  again. 

"I  BELIEVE  you  are  a  wizard,  Mr.  Kern," 
said  Mrs.  Colvin  the  next  morning.  She  had 
been  waiting  until  the  reporter  should  wander 
down  to  breakfast. 

"Um — m — m,"  hesitated  Kern.  "I  may 
have  been  initiated  in  my  sleep.  What's  the 
password?" 

"Oh,  one  mustn't  mention  the  password 
in  daylight,"  laughed  Mrs.  Colvin.  "It's  to 
be  spoken  only  under  the  rays  of  the  waning 
moon,  with  your  left  hand  grasping  a  rab 
bit's  foot.  Surely  you  remember  that.  But 
there's  a  young  lady  in  this  town  very  much 
relieved  as  a  result  of  your  incantations  yes 
terday." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Kern.  "It  was 
very  simple." 

"You're  the  only  one  who  found  it  so,  then. 
I  was  at  the  house  when  Mr.  Landis  brought 
out  the — the  goods,"  she  finished  as  the  wait 
ress  came  in.  "He  couldn't  say  enough  good 
things  about  you,  nor  about  me  for  insisting 
on  trying  you.  We're  all  wondering  how  you 

99 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

came  to  get  them  so  quickly.  Would  that  be 
telling?" 

"It  would,"  admitted  Kern  with  a  grin. 
"Just  take  my  word  that  any  newsboy  who 
happened  to  know  what  I  knew  could  have 
done  practically  as  well.  It  was  good  luck 
that  I  had  the  knowledge,  that's  all." 

"Miss  Harteley  tried  to  get  you  on  the 
phone  last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Colvin.  "She 
wants  to  express  a  portion  of  her  thanks." 
Kern  waved  the  praise  away  with  an  annoyed 
gesture,  and  Mrs.  Colvin  went  on: 

"She  would  like  to  consult  you  on  another 
puzzle  that  is  bothering  them  all.  Mr.  Landis 
is  willing  this  time." 

Kern  set  down  his  coffee  cup  with  an  ex 
clamation  that  barely  missed  being  more. 
"Blessed  is  that  man  of  whom  everybody 
knows  that  he  doesn't  know  nothing!"  he 
said.  "Them's  my  sentiments.  What  do 
they  want  now  ? ' ' 

"Why,  you  needn't  go  into  the  matter  if 
you  object,"  said  Mrs.  Colvin  coldly.  "You 
have  a  right  to  refuse." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  protested  Kern.  "I 
shouldn't  have  spoken  that  way.  I  ought  to 
be  glad  to  do  anything  I  can  for — for  either 
of  them.  But  you  couldn  't  make  them  under 
stand  that  my  success  yesterday  was  purely 

accidental ;  and  when  I  fail  on  the  next  trial, 
100 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

as  I'm  sure  to  do,  they'll  be  disappointed. 
I'll  try  it  though,  just  to  atone  for  my  rude 
ness  to  you." 

"Thank  you,"  beamed  Mrs.  Colvin.  "Do 
you  think  there'll  be  any  more  anonymous 
letters,  by  the  way?" 

"Not  from  the  same  source,  I  fancy." 
Kern's  grin  was  so  broad  as  to  interfere  with 
his  eating.  ' '  The — the  party  in  that  case  will 
be  too  busy  sitting  up  nights  hating  me  to 
have  any  time  for  letter  writing.  It  might  be 
a  good  plan  for  me  to  write  out  a  description 
of  the  sort  of  person  to  be  arrested,  in  case 
your  humble  servant  is  found  up  a  dark  alley 
some  morning  with  his  throat  cut,  and  the 
mark  of  the  Red  Avenger  burned  on  his  fore 
head.  Or  do  they  stamp  those  marks  on  with 
a  stencil!  I  never  can  remember." 

"Is  it  as  serious  as  that?"  asked  Mrs. 
Colvin,  ignoring  the  banter. 

"Well,  perhaps  not  quite.  But  if  I  were 
going  on  a  vacation,  and  nobody  would  think 
to  look  for  me  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  there's 
one  elegantly  furnished  flat  in  this  city  where 
I'd  hate  to  drink  my  parting  cup  of  tea.  Even 
a  large  blonde  lady  with  peroxide  hair  can 
do  a  lot  of  disappearing  in  two  weeks." 

"Peroxide,  eh?"  said  Mrs.  Colvin  with  in 
terest.  After  a  moment  she  added  with  ap 
parent  irrelevance : 

101 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  never  did  think  much  of  his  taste." 

' '  Nor  I, ' '  agreed  Kern.  *  *  You  haven 't  told 
me  yet  where  and  when  this  puzzle  is  to  be 
set  before  me?" 

"Can  you  come  to  Mr.  Landis'  office  to 
morrow  at  two  o'clock?" 

"Guess  so.  If  any  lucky  chance  keeps  me 
away,  I'll  telephone.  Hello,  Gene.  Have  you 
impaled  another  minion  of  the  hated  plutoc 
racy  on  the  sharp  point  of  your  Faber  No. 
2?" 

"I  sure  have,"  said  Gray.  "Ready  to  go 
down!  I'll  walk  with  you." 

Kern  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour  late  at  the 
appointment  the  next  day.  Landis  was  wait 
ing  for  him  in  the  outer  office.  "How's  the 
amateur  detective?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Behind  time  and  getting  worse,"  said 
Kern.  Miss  Harteley  rose  as  the  two  men 
entered  the  private  office,  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"Mr.  Kern,  I  want  to  thank  you,  as  much 
as  I  can,  for  your  services  of  the  other  day. 
You  have  laid  my  mother  and  myself  under 
an  obligation  that  we  can  never  repay,  though 
we  should  be  more  than  glad  to — to  try  a 
payment  on  account?"  Her  voice  had  a  ris 
ing  inflection.  Kern's  pale  forehead  went 
red. 

102 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

11  Please,  please  don't  say  anything  about 
it.  It  was  nothing  at  all."  A  look  of  whim 
sical  amusement  peeped  out  from  under  his 
evident  discomfort.  "  Besides,  I  liked  it.  I 
hope  you  won't  say  or  do  anything  about  the 
matter  at  all." 

"You  have  a  right  to  make  any  request," 
said  Miss  Harteley.  "I'll  let  Mr.  Landis 
state  the  new  business,  if  he  will." 

"You  can  see  that  Jeannette  has  belonged 
to  women's  clubs  and  read  parliamentary 
law, ' '  began  Landis  with  a  grave  smile.  ' '  The 
new  business  is  very  easy  to  state.  Miss 
Harteley  wants  to  see  if  you  will  take  up 
some  private  detective  work  for  her.  You 
know  how  utterly  the  police  seem  to  have 
fallen  down  in  searching  for  her — for  the 
persons  who  killed  her  father.  We  want  you 
to  take  the  time,  at  our  expense,  of  course, 
to  see  if  you  can  make  anything  of  it." 

Kern's  face  tightened  under  his  beard,  and 
his  voice  was  a  bit  hard  as  he  answered : 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  refuse." 

"Why?"  urged  Landis;  as  one  who  has  a 
question  ready  for  an  expected  response. 

"For  several  reasons.  I  like  to  dig  into 
a  mystery  that  is  merely  a  mystery;  but  I 
shouldn't  like  it  so  well  if  my  success  meant 
another  man's  hanging." 

103 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Don't  you  think  it  the  duty  of  all  good 
citizens  to  help  hunt  down  criminals ! ' '  asked 
Miss  Harteley. 

Kern  smiled  rather  grimly  as  he  replied: 

"It  is  hardly  their  duty  to  devote  their 
whole  time  to  it.  That  isn't  my  only  reason, 
however. ' ' 

"What  are  the  others?" 

"I  consider  the  case  hopeless.  I  have  done 
police  reporting  in  half  a  dozen  cities,  and  I 
may  fairly  claim  to  know  something  about 
crime.  I  have  never  seen  the  police  solve  a 
mystery  with  even  twice  as  many  clues  as 
this  one.  A  private  detective  agency  did 
solve  one  case  almost  as  difficult ;  but  it  came 
to  nothing.  They  had  the  right  man,  but  they 
couldn't  convict  him.  If  the  man  or  one  of 
the  men  involved  in  this  case  should  confess, 
the  true  story  will  come  out.  Otherwise, 
not." 

' '  But  can  man  propound  a  riddle  that  man 
cannot  solve?" 

"You  got  that  from  Poe,  Miss  Harteley," 
smiled  Kern.  "I  don't  think  that  is  a  fair 
statement  of  the  case.  So  far  as  the  riddle 
is  concerned,  I  think  we  read  it  very  quickly, 
in  the  Star.  We  said  that  the  crime  was  com 
mitted  for  one  of  two  motives,  revenge,  or 

104 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

the  possession  of  some  documents — probably 
both.  We  described,  I  think  correctly,  the 
way  in  which  the  men  concerned  entered  and 
left  the  office.  That  solved  the  riddle  part  of 
the  thing.  What  you  want  now  is  the  names 
of  the  persons  who  propounded  that  riddle. 
Barring  accidents,  you'll  never  get  the  right 
names — though  that  reward  you  were  talking 
about  the  other  day  would  probably  get  you 
a  well  attested  list  of  wrong  ones." 

"You  don't  take  much  stock  in  the  Brother 
hood  being  mixed  up  in  this?"  asked  Mr. 
Landis. 

' '  Not  the  least  in  the  world. ' ' 

"Isn't  it  rather  out  of  date  to  talk  about 
murder  for  revenge  in  this  day!"  argued 
Miss  Harteley.  "People  don't  go  around 
vowing  vengeance  the  way  they  did  a  few 
centuries  ago.  Aren't  you  putting  a  little 
too  much  romance  into  the — the  case?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Kern.  He  started 
to  say  something  more,  checked  himself;  and 
Mr.  Landis,  after  waiting  a  moment,  took 
up  the  theme. 

"I  think  Mr.  Kern  appreciates  the  diffi 
culties  of  his  theory,  but  considers  that  even 
so,  it  is  the  most  reasonable  solution.  As 
I  understand  it,  Mr.  Kern,  you  rule  out  rob- 

105 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

bery  because  there  was  nothing  at  the  office 
that  would  invite  a  robber.  You  rule  out 
the  notion  of  a  surprised  sneak-thief,  because 
the  thief  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  get 
away.  You  reach  your  own  theory  by  ex 
amining  and  discarding  all  the  others.  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"  Pretty  nearly.  You  can  come  to  the  same 
conclusion  by  another  route.  The  persons 
who  did  the  killing  must  have  come  in  by  the 
fire-escape,  or  by  the  window.  It  is  unthink 
able  that  they  got  in  by  the  fire-escape  in 
daylight  without  being  seen.  It  is  equally 
unlikely,  in  view  of  the  janitor's  testimony, 
that  they  had  a  key  that  would  fit  the  office 
door.  Therefore  they  got  in  after  the  office 
was  unlocked ;  which  means  after  Mr.  Harte- 
ley  was  there.  He  was  there  by  appointment 
with  someone,  and  no  one  making  such  an 
appointment  has  been  found.  Therefore,  his 
appointment  was  with  the  persons  who  killed 
him — though  of  course,  he  could  not  have  sus 
pected  their  intentions." 

''There's  another  thing  to  clinch  your 
view,"  added  Landis.  "We've  found  since 
the  inquest  that  the  lock  on  that  office  door 
had  been  changed  less  than  a  week  before." 

"You  speak  of  the  criminals  being  seen 

106 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

on  the  fire-escape,"  said  Miss  Harteley. 
''Why  weren't  they  seen  going  in  at  the 
door?" 

"Very  likely  they  were,"  agreed  Kern. 
"If  I  am  right  in  my  guessing,  they  were  men 
who  could  go  back  and  forth  without  attract 
ing  a  second  look  from  anyone." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes.  At 
last  Miss  Harteley  spoke: 

"Then  you  won't  make  the  effort  to  find 
the  criminals?" 

Kern's  face  was  very  grave.  "I  am  sorry 
you  put  it  that  way.  Say  rather  that  I  re 
fuse  to  make  an  effort  that  could  only  end  in 
disappointment. ' ' 

There  was  another  season  of  silence, 
broken  this  time  by  Mr.  Landis. 

"Perhaps,  Jeanette,  Mr.  Kern  would  be 
willing  to  take  a  look  at  that  other  matter— 
or  have  you  the  time  to  spare?" 

"I  have  the  time,"  assented  Kern,  wonder 
ing.  Miss  Harteley 's  face  set  in  a  queer 
look  of  troubled  pride  which  meant  that  she 
had  crossed  another  of  her  father's  crooked 
trails  which  could  not  be  entirely  hidden.  She 
nodded  answer  to  the  lawyer's  look  and  ques 
tion  ;  and  Mr.  Landis  picked  up  a  small  black 
object  from  his  desk,  and  gave  it  to  Kern. 

107 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

It  was  an  ordinary  pocket-sized  notebook. 
Landis  opened  it  at  a  given  page,  and  pointed. 

An  odd  expression  crossed  Kern's  face 
when  he  saw  what  that  page  contained.  It 
was  gone  in  a  moment,  however,  and  he  bent 
his  head  over  the  puzzle  with  entire  absorp 
tion.  It  was  a  series  of  notes,  or  rather  of 
figures.  The  first  entries,  which  Kern  asked 
permission  to  copy,  ran  thus : 

"145,  14,  3.  143,  32,  8.  129,  16,  11.  176, 
1,  9.  98,  17,  10.  113,  7,  2.  166,  39,  2.  166, 
7,  10.  170,  35,  4." 

This  much  was  written  in  ink  with  a  soft 
pointed  pen,  probably  a  fountain  pen.  Fol 
lowed  an  entry  done  more  carelessly  in  pencil, 
then  an  entry  in  ink,  then  two  entries  in 
pencil.  On  the  next  page  and  several  pages 
after  that  were  similar  entries.  Kern  studied 
the  first  few  carefully,  and  passed  the  others 
with  a  rapid  glance. 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  your  father's  writ 
ing,  Miss  Harteley?" 

"Perfectly  sure,  and  so  is  Mr.  Landis. 
Can  you  tell  us  what  it  means,  please?"  Her 
face  clouded,  as  though  she  did  not  look  for 
pleasant  information. 

1 '  It  means  nothing  that  you  need  be  afraid 
to  hear,"  declared  Kern.  "It's  just  a  form 

108 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

of  cypher  telegram.  Lots  of  men  use  similar 
cyphers  when  they  are  engaged  in  deals  that 
mustn't  leak  out." 

1  *  You  say  you  know  what  it  is,  and  yet  that 
you  can't  read  it,"  said  Miss  Harteley.  "I 
don't  understand,  unless  you're  trying  to 
keep  something  from  me.  Please  don't  do 
that." 

Kern  smiled  as  he  handed  the  book  to  the 
young  woman.  "I'm  not  trying  to  conceal 
anything  here.  You  would  recognize  Eygp- 
tian  hieroglyphics  as  such,  though  I  don't 
suppose  you  could  read  them.  Look  at  these 
numbers.  What  do  you  notice  about  them!" 

"They  come  in  sets  of  three." 

"Good.    What  else?" 

1 '  I  don 't  think  I  see  anything  else. ' ' 

"Do  you!"  The  question  was  addressed 
to  Mr.  Landis.  The  lawyer  answered 
promptly : 

"Taking  the  set  of  three  numbers  as  a 
unit,  there  are  usually  ten  such  units,  or  less, 
in  an  entry. ' ' 

"Exactly.  That  means  a  telegram,  you 
see.  Now  look  at  those  numbers  again.  What 
else  is  there  peculiar  about  them?" 

The  two  ladies  shook  their  heads.  Mr. 
Landis  spoke  hesitatingly.  "I  had  guessed 

109 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

at  a  telegram,"  lie  said.  "But  I  can't  see 
anything  else  to  guide  us.  The  numbers  are 
too  large  to  refer  to  letters." 

"Much  too  large,"  agreed  Kern.  "And  a 
telegram  composed  of  words  of  three  letters 
would  be  a  bit  restricted  as  to  meaning. 
Surely  you  can  see  the  thing  to  which  the 
figures  do  point?" 

A  general  head-shaking  followed. 

"Look,"  repeated  Kern.  "The  first  num 
ber  in  a  set  of  three  is  usually  the  largest, 
and  all  the  numbers  higher  than  40  are  first 
numbers.  The  largest  second  number  I  have 
found  is  36 — no,  here's  one  39.  The  largest 
last  number  is  13.  Now  do  you  see  it?" 

"You'll  have  to  tell  us,  I  guess,"  admitted 
Landis. 

"The  first  number  gives  the  page  of  a 
book.  The  second  number  points  to  a  certain 
line  on  that  page,  and  the  third  number,  the 
position  of  a  word  in  that  line.  To  use  this 
cypher,  the  persons  corresponding  get  two 
copies  of  the  same  edition  of  the  same  book. 
The  one  who  sends  the  message  takes  his 
book;  and  picks  out  his  words  by  page,  line, 
and  place  in  the  line.  He  sends  his  message ; 
and  the  other  fellow  gets  down  his  book,  and 

looks  up  the  numbers." 
no 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"What  a  trick!"  exclaimed  Miss  Harteley 
and  Mrs.  Colvin  together. 

"The  best  of  all  tricks  of  the  kind.  It  has 
only  one  drawback — when  you  use  it  over  the 
wire,  the  company  charges  you  for  each 
separate  figure.  Even  so,  you  will  note  that 
habit  held  this  exchange  of  telegrams  pretty 
close  to  the  ten  word  limit." 

"Isn't  there  any  way  of  reading  it?"  asked 
Miss  Harteley. 

"Not  unless  you  know  the  book  from  which 
the  cypher  is  taken,  and  some  outside  circum 
stance  must  guide  you  to  the  book.  In  this 
case,  it  would  probably  be  a  book  of  four  or 
five  hundred  pages." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  questioned 
Mrs.  Colvin. 

"From  the  size  of  the  first  numbers.  Ex 
cept  for  a  few  entries  here,  when,  I  suspect, 
the  correspondents  were  trying  to  economize, 
those  numbers  run  generally  between  140  and 
300.  A  book  commonly  opens  near  the 
middle,  you  know." 

"Why  don't  you  open  an  office  as  a  consult 
ing  detective,  Mr.  Kern  1 ' '  smiled  the  lawyer. 
Kern  laughed  rather  constrainedly. 

"Perhaps  because  my  sympathies  are  with 

the  criminal  at  least  half  the  time,"  he  an- 
111 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

swered.  "I'll  have  to  go,  now."  He  bowed, 
and  slipped  away  before  Landis  could  usher 
him  to  the  door. 

' '  What  an  efficient  scamp  he  is ! "  remarked 
Landis.  "And  what  a  mass  of  outlandish 
information  he  seems  to  have  picked  up  in 
various  parts  of  the  earth." 

"I  don't  like  to  hear  you  call  Mr.  Kern  a 
scamp,"  said  Miss  Harteley.  "But  I  wish 
he  hadn't  said  that  about  his  sympathy  with 
criminals.  He  couldn't  have  meant  papa's 
murderers,  surely?" 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Landis 
sharply,  and  then  turned  to  answer  the  tele 
phone.  After  a  minute  of  rather  one  sided 
conversation,  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "I'll 
be  there  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  and  hung 
up  the  receiver.  The  two  ladies  rose. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  but  it's  a  sudden  call  that 
I  can't  very  well  refuse,"  explained  Landis. 

"It's  time  we  were  going,  anyway,"  said 
Miss  Harteley. 

Landis  dropped  the  black  leather  notebook 
into  his  pocket  as  he  stepped  by  to  open  the 
door. 


CHAPTER    XI 

When  a  man  locks  up  his  secrets  in  a  cypher,  he  should 
be  sure  to  throw  away  the  key. 

KERN  was  waiting  in  the  lobby  of  the  Tram 
way  Building  as  Landis  hurried  in.  "Do  you 
think  you've  got  a  clue  at  last?"  demanded 
the  lawyer  eagerly.  Kern  shook  his  head. 

"Getting  clues  at  last  is  the  special  prov 
ince  of  the  noble  detective  who  rescues  the 
heroine  from  the  villain  who  insists  on  marry 
ing  her  to  save  the  homestead.  But  there's 
a  chance  of  finding  out  what  those  telegrams 
meant.  If  there's  a  book  in  Harteley's  office 
that  doesn't  seem  to  have  any  business  there, 
it's  worth  examining.  You  brought  the  note 
book?" 

"It's  here." 

"There  won't  be  any  difficulty  about  get 
ting  into  the  room  alone?" 

' '  Not  at  all.  Why  didn  't  you  want  Jeannette 
to  know?" 

Kern  smiled  rather  grimly.  The  elevator 
opened  and  let  them  in,  opened  again,  and 
let  them  out  before  he  replied. 

"Because  I  fancy  the  less  Miss  Harteley 

8  113 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

knows  about  her  father's  business  methods, 
the  more  comfort  she'll  get  out  of  his  fortune. 
There  are  such  cases,  and  I  think  this  is  one 
of  them.  Ah!"  For  Landis,  without  speak 
ing,  had  swung  open  the  door  of  the  dead 
magnate's  private  office.  He  closed  and 
locked  it  behind  them ;  the  button  clicked,  and 
the  two  rooms  lay  untenanted  in  the  brilliant 
light. 

It  was  the  first  time  Kern  had  been  there 
since  the  morning  of  the  murder.  Save  for 
the  absence  of  the  body  and  the  difference  in 
the  light,  the  rooms  looked  much  as  he  had 
last  seen  them.  The  same  over-rich  ornamen 
tation,  the  same  riotous  luxury  of  appoint 
ments,  the  same  prodigality  of  money  and 
poverty  of  taste  were  apparent  now  as  then. 
Kern  sniffed  in  aesthetic  scorn  as  he  noted 
a  Greek  statuette  and  a  Chinese  bronze  jost 
ling  each  other  on  the  top  of  a  bookcase.  But 
it  was  the  contents  of  this  case  that  held  him. 

"Look  at  the  hideous  furniture!"  he  said. 
"Leather  bound,  ink  daubed  furniture." 
Landis  gave  a  deprecating  glance  at  the 
shelves.  "Where  shall  we  begin?"  he  asked. 

"Hard  to  tell.  I  didn't  realize  he  had  so 
many  books  here — it's  a  cinch  he  never  read 
'em.  Those  all  look  too  big—  '  pointing  to  a 

114 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

case  filled  with  those  unescapable  "editions 
de  luxe,"  which  a  certain  type  of  rich  man 
gathers  as  inevitably  as  an  old  pine  tree 
accumulates  moss.  ''Suppose  we  tackle  this 
one." 

"This  one"  was  evidently  Harteley's 
working  collection.  "Poor's  Manual," 
" Moody 's  Manual,"  "Who's  Who,"  engi 
neers'  reports,  works  on  electricity,  lawbooks 
of  a  more  or  less  easily  understood  type,  filled 
most  of  the  case.  A  richly  bound  copy  of  the 
"Decameron"  caught  Kern's  eyes,  and  he 
jerked  it  hastily  from  its  place.  But  a 
minute 's  test  proved  that  it  was  not  the  book 
sought.  Several  other  works  were  tried, 
merely  on  the  score  of  their  size,  and  were 
found  wanting,  also. 

' '  I  wonder  if  he 's  destroyed  it  ? "  ruminated 
Mr.  Landis.  As  he  spoke,  a  light  winked  in 
an  office  across  the  alley,  and  he  drew  down 
the  blinds. 

"More  likely  he's  sent  it  home,"  said  Kern. 
"He  wasn't  much  of  a  hand  to  destroy  things, 
if  I  read  him  rightly.  What  a  mess  it  is!" 
he  added,  waving  his  hand  at  the  gorgeous 
backings  that  leered  superciliously  from  the 
shelter  of  their  glass  doors.  "Just  two 
classes,  working  books  and  furniture.  That 

115 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Decameron  is  the  only  relaxation  he  per 
mitted  himself — always  excepting  peroxide 
blondes,  of  course." 

"I'd  like  to  meet  that  lady,"  murmured 
Mr.  Landis. 

"You  too?"  queried  Kern  mischievously. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "Well,  there's  nothing 
for  it  but  a  systematic  search.  I  think  I'll 
start  where  those  books  are  leaning  over- 
it's  a  shame  to  treat  good  morocco  that  way." 

He  moved  to  a  case  where  the  deckel  edged 
memoirs  of  St.  Simon  lopped  against  a  much 
padded  edition  of  Machiavelli's  "Prince." 
Neither  had  ever  been  opened.  "The  furni 
ture  dealers  didn't  measure  right,"  said 
Kern.  "Hope  the  old  cuss  docked  'em  for 
that  open  space."  He  straightened  St. 
Simon.  Mr.  Landis  spoke  from  the  rear: 

"There's  something  behind  there." 

* '  Right,  oh, ' '  said  Kern.  He  lifted  a  couple 
of  volumes  from  their  place,  reached  behind 
them,  and  brought  forth  an  old,  plain-leather 
covered  book  of  the  days  when  good  print 
ing  and  binding  had  not  yet  taken  their  place 
among  the  lost  arts.  The  two  men  looked  at  it 
for  a  moment,  and  then  both  uttered  an  ex 
clamation. 

The  volumes  Kern  was  holding  dropped 
to  the  floor.  "We've  got  it!"  he  exclaimed. 

116 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

" Look's  like  it,"  agreed  Mr.  Landis. 

The  book  was  an  odd  volume  of  Clavigero's 
" History  of  Mexico,"  in  an  English  transla 
tion,  and  was  close  to  a  century  old.  What 
business  it  had  in  that  office,  unless  to  furnish 
a  cypher,  was  hard  to  guess.  Kern  balanced 
it  in  his  hand,  and  it  opened  at  page  140. 
Two  heads  bent  over  it  for  a  moment,  and  two 
breaths  came  in  a  quick  intake  as  Landis 
pointed  to  faint  pencil  marks.  Near  the  bot 
tom  of  the  page  was  a  tiny  spot  of  ink.  Kern 
squatted  on  the  floor  with  the  Clavigero  and 
an  old  letter.  Landis  took  the  notebook,  and 
read  off  the  numbers,  while  Kern  found  the 
words  and  jotted  them  down.  The  first  mes 
sage  read: 

"Bought  thousand  skins,  22.  Send  gold 
for  balance  immediately." 

"  'Skins'  is  evidently  a  code  word  for  some 
stock,"  said  Mr.  Landis. 

"Yes,"  said  Kern.    "Go  on." 

Message  after  message  was  translated,  not 
without  frequent  errors  necessitating  a  sec 
ond  reading  of  the  numbers.  Both  men  had 
guessed  that  the  entries  in  ink  were  mes 
sages  sent  one  way,  and  those  in  pencil  the 
replies.  It  proved  to  be  generally  true,  but 
not  without  exceptions.  In  one  place  they 

117 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

found  a  purchase  referred  to  by  the  initials 
"P.  G." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  Landis, 
scratching  his  head  in  utter  bewilderment. 
"Harteley  was  never  a  bucket  shop  dealer." 

"He  wasn't  anything  half  so  decent," 
growled  Kern  savagely.  Mr.  Landis  looked 
deprecatingly  toward  the  part  of  the  room 
where  the  body  had  lain  that  other  morning, 
but  did  not  dispute  his  friend. 

"I  wonder  what  those  initials  stand  for?" 
he  said. 

"  'P.G.'f  'People's  Gas,'  of  course. 
What's  bothering  me  is  to  guess  how  the 
initials  came  to  be  used  at  all." 

"There  may  have  been  a  mistake  in  read 
ing  the  cypher,"  suggested  Mr.  Landis.  "We 
don't  seem  to  have  copies  of  all  the  wires  that 
passed,  you  know." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

"Who  was  the  man  at  the  other  end,  do 
you  think?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  countered  Kern. 
"He  was  staking  trust  money  on  Harteley's 
tip,  though;  that's  one  thing  sure  enough. 
Heavens!  It's  after  eight  o'clock.  Let's 
turn  to  the  last  of  these  and  see  how  it  comes 
out,  and  then  I've  got  to  go." 

118 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  next  to  the  last  entry  was  in  pencil, 
and  was  several  times  the  usual  length. 
Translated,  it  was  a  pitiful  plea  for  help. 
Two  wrong  numbers,  with  corrections  above 
them,  gave  mute  testimony  to  the  agitation 
of  the  sender.  "For  God's  sake,  stand  by 
me!"  it  closed.  Kern  read  it  aloud  in  a 
hard  voice. 

"Now  for  the  answer,"  he  said.  Landis 
shook  his  head,  and  read  out  the  numbers. 
There  were  only  three  sets. 

"What  does  it  say?"  he  inquired,  as  Kern 
wrote  down  the  last  word.  The  other  man 
handed  over  the  paper  without  speaking. 
There  were  the  three  words: 

"Go  hang  yourself!" 

"My  God!"  said  Landis.  "Did  he  send 
such  an  answer  to  a  telegram  like  that?" 

* '  You  look  it  up, ' '  said  Kern.  He  read  the 
numbers,  and  Mr.  Landis  checked  them.  The 
translation  was  correct.  Kern  took  the 
paper,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  began  putting 
on  his  overcoat. 

"Perhaps  you  can  understand  now  why  I 
don 't  feel  any  great  anxiety  to  catch  the  men 
who  killed  William  Harteley, ' '  he  said.  "  I  'm 
not  rich  enough  to  reward  them  as  they  de 
serve.  ' ' 

119 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

''Do  you  suppose  this  man — the  man  that 
got  this  message,  was  the  one  that  killed 
him?"  asked  Landis. 

"No,"  said  Kern.  "A  man  weak  enough 
to  be  caught  that  way  would  be  too  weak 
to  strike  back.  It's  someone  else,  probably 
with  just  as  good  a  grievance.  How  far  back 
is  that  gas  company  consolidation!" 

"Oh,  six  or  seven  years,"  answered  Mr. 
Landis.  "I  wonder  if  the  man  did  go  hang 
himself. ' ' 

"Probably." 

"But  who  could  it  have  been?" 

"You  may  find  some  indication  when  you 
decode  the  rest  of  those  entries.  I'll  help 
you  to-morrow  if  you  want  me.  It's  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that  the  less  Miss  Harteley 
suspects  of  this,  the  better." 

' '  Certainly, ' '  Landis  agreed.  * '  I  wish  you 
would  help  me." 

He  was  staring  with  unseeing  eyes  at  the 
"History  of  Mexico"  when  Kern  went  out. 


CHAPTER   XII 

The  end  justifies  the  means— unless  one  gets  caught. 

KEEN  arose  early  the  next  morning  to  help 
Mr.  Landis  in  the  work  of  deciphering  the 
telegrams.  There  was  no  difficulty  in  doing 
this,  but  it  left  them  no  wiser  than  before. 
There  were  plainly  several  gaps  in  the  record ; 
but  as  it  stood,  it  was  pretty  clear  proof  that 
Harteley  had  deliberately  swindled  someone 
who  trusted  him;  someone  who  was  not 
merely  gambling  on  Harteley 's  tip,  but 
seemed  to  be  helping  Harteley  in  a  fight  for 
control.  And  he  was  putting  up  trust  funds ; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  on  that  score.  But 
of  the  name  or  address  of  the  unfortunate 
man,  there  was  no  word. 

"I  heard  you  say  once  that  someone  was 
ready  to  tell  plausible  lies  about  Harteley," 
said  Kern.  "  That  was  a  mistake.  The  only 
lie  you  could  tell  of  that  scoundrel  would  be 
something  good,  and  that  wouldn't  be  plaus 
ible." 

"Are  you  sure  that  'P.  G.'  means  the  old 
gas  company?"  queried  Landis. 

"It '51  extremely  probable,  anyway,"  Kern 

replied.   ' '  We  know  that  Harteley  was  deeply 
121 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

involved  in  that  concern,  we  know  he  had  a 
long  fight,  and  that  the  new  company  bought 
him  out  in  the  end.    It  looks  to  me  as  if  this 
was  one  place  where  Harteley  got  the  funds 
for  his  fight;   and  then  he  forgot  his  backer 
when  settlement  time  came. ' ' 
"Might  it  not  have  been  a  panic?" 
"Does  a  man  speculate  on  only  one  stock 
in  a  panic!"  countered  Kern. 

* '  You  feel  sure  it  was  a  regular  swindle  1 ' ' 
Kern  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  pointed 
without   speaking  to  the  last  entry  in  the 
notebook. 

Several  weeks  passed,  full  of  busy  occur 
rences,  yet  shedding  no  light  on  the  Harteley 
tragedy.  But  for  the  Star's  persistence  the 
case  would  have  dropped  out  of  sight  alto 
gether.  As  it  was,  the  Star  made  up  in  car 
toon  and  editorial  for  the  lack  of  fresh  news 
on  the  subject;  and  kept  the  public  almost 
interested  in  the  fight  on  the  city  administra 
tion.  The  Herald,  coming  to  the  mayor's 
rescue,  had  "emitted  wild  screams"  concern 
ing  the  manifest  guilt  of  the  Brotherhood, 
and  the  total  depravity  of  a  newspaper 
which  could  dare  to  hint  doubts  of  that  guilt. 
The  Star  refused  to  be  drawn  from  the  trail, 

and  kept  whacking  at  the  city  hall.    But  the 
122 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

big  man  with  the  scarred  face  had  set  the 
Brotherhood  press  agent  the  easy  task  of 
proving  that  the  Herald  was  a  liar,  in  which 
the  truth  abided  not.  Then  some  new  kink 
in  civic  crookedness  came  to  light,  and  the 
Harteley  case  was  lost  to  sight. 

"This  town  won't  stay  interested  in  any 
thing,  ' '  complained  Gray  peevishly  one  morn 
ing. 

"Not  even  in  one  of  your  novels!"  laughed 
Kern.  "Too  bad." 

"Your  cussed  papers  have  robbed  the  pub 
lic  of  the  ability  to  think  consecutively  on  a 
subject,"  retorted  Gray. 

"In  the  absence  of  microscopic  analysis, 
the  public  won't  know  it's  lost  anything." 

"And  Mr.  Arthur  Kern,  by  the  modest 
confession  of  his  employers,  is  the  most 
popular  special  writer  in  town,"  mused  Gray. 
"There  is  a  certain  fitness  in  things,  isn't 
there. ' ' 

"Boys!"  cried  Mrs.  Colvin  from  the  other 
end  of  the  table.  "Will  you  stop  your  quar 
relling,  or  shall  I  send  you  to  bed?" 

But  Kern  knew  that  the  city  hall  was  vastly 
worried,  and  that  Mike  Kennedy  was  at  his 
wit's  end  for  a  road  out  of  the  difficulty.  A 
couple  of  spectacular  arrests  and  sweated 

123 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

confessions  had  procured  him  a  respite;  but 
it  was  only  a  respite.  Mike  could  defy  the 
" yellow  journals"  when  he  had  the  backing 
of  the  allied  corporations  of  the  city;  or  he 
could  hold  up  the  corporations  by  threaten 
ing  to  side  in  with  the  "yellow  journals." 
But  when  the  corporations  and  the  yellow 
press  joined  in  an  unholy  alliance,  what  was 
a  poor  chief  of  police  to  do?  Mike  was  just 
in  the  humor  to  take  foolish  risk  when  a 
chance  offered ;  and  of  course  he  grasped  it. 

Kern  was  homeward  bound  one  night  when 
he  encountered  Mrs.  Greenway  on  the  car. 
The  lady  received  his  ironic  bow  with  a  curt 
nod,  and  Kern,  unable  to  deny  himself  the 
pleasure  of  a  tilt,  sat  down  by  her  side. 
"How  is  Mr.  Evans  these  days?"  he  asked 
solicitously.  Mrs.  Greenway  ignored  the 
polite  inquiry. 

"What  did  you  get  for  them  letters?"  she 
demanded. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Kern,  in 
genuine  puzzlement;  and  then,  before  she 
could  answer,  he  caught  her  meaning. 
"Madam,"  he  said,  "I  got  blessings  and 
thanks,  and  nothing  more.  Don't  you  think 
it  was  a  rich  enough  reward?" 

"Kot!"  was  Mrs.  Greenway 's  comment. 

124 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

''I'd  of  got  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  them 
little  bits  of  paper.  What  did  you  get?" 

''Just  what  I  told  you,"  insisted  Kern, 
smiling. 

''You're  either  a  fool  or  a  liar,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Greenway  politely.  "And  I've  never 
found  you  a  fool.  Never  mind.  It  will  be 
my  turn  some  day." 

"When  that  day  comes,"  rejoined  Kern, 
"my  one  prayer  is  to  be  able  to  die  grace 
fully.  Why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage,  Mrs. 
—Evans?  You'd  make  a  simply  stunning 
Salammbo." 

"Where  were  you  born?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Greenway  suddenly. 

' '  I  don 't  remember, ' '  said  Kern.  ' '  Funny, 
too.  Being  born  is  a  tolerably  important 
event  in  one's  life,  and  you'd  think  a  fellow 
would  remember  it,  but  I  don't.  Now,  you 
haven't  been  so  forgetful,  I'm  sure." 

Mrs.  Greenway  flushed  a  trifle,  but  she  kept 
her  large,  bold  eyes  fixed  on  the  reporter's 
face.  Kern  had  looked  tired  and  worn  when 
he  got  on  the  car,  but  now  his  eyes  were 
dancing  with  mischief,  and  he  resembled 
nothing  so  much  as  a  boy  just  escaped  from 
school.  Mrs.  Greenway  closed  her  sizable 
jaw  with  a  little  extra  emphasis. 

125 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

' '  All  right,  Mr.  Kern.  You  do  it  very  well. 

But "  she  lowered  her  voice,  and  looked 

around  to  make  sure  no  one  was  listening — 
"But  I'll  bet  something  I  ain't  the  only  per 
son  on  this  automobile  that  got  a  history." 

"But  surely,  none  of  those  histories  can 
compare  with  yours!  I'm  willing  to  leave  it 
to  Mike,  now,  and  he's  a  judge  in  such  mat 
ters.  There 's  the  romance  of  the  career,  and 
the  unique  and  varied  charm  of  the  person 
ality,  and — Mrs.  Greenway,  I  mean  Evans! 
Aren  't  you  ashamed  1 ' ' 

He  helped  her  off  the  car,  and  sprang  back 
to  the  moving  steps.  Mrs.  Greenway  watched 
the  car  out  of  sight  before  going  into  her  flat. 
In  a  little  while,  she  came  out  again,  and 
went  to  the  nearest  mailbox. 

The  next  day,  Billy  Brown  came  into  the 
chief's  office  and  found  his  superior  puzzling 
over  a  letter.  Mike  looked  up,  looked  back 
to  the  letter,  and  then,  acting  on  a  sudden 
impulse,  spoke.  "Billy,"  he  said,  "do  you 
know  anything  about  this  damn  scamp, 
Arthur  Kern?" 

"Nuttin',  'cept  that  he  is  a  scamp,"  said 
Billy.  He  added  a  few  uncomplimentary 
speculations  as  to  Kern's  ancestry  and  habits, 
ending  with  a  question  to  the  chief.  "Wot 
youse  want  to  know  for?" 

126 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I've  got  a  letter  here  that  says,  or  most 
says,  that  Kern  could  give  us  a  tip  on  the 
Harteley  case  if  he  wanted  to.  The  letter 
says  to  search  him.  What  do  you  know  about 
that?" 

"Be  just  like  him,"  assented  Billy.  "Just 
like  him  to  pick  up  suthin'  when  no  one  wan't 
lookin',  and  then  snaffle  it  on  the  dead. 
Countin'  on  comin'  in  with  a  spiel  when  the 
rest  of  us  has  give  it  up,  an'  you  an'  me '11 
get  it  in  the  neck."  The  king  of  Brown 
County  spoke  for  some  time  longer,  but  the 
period  marks  the  place  where  his  remarks 
became  unusable. 

"Well,  why  not  catch  him  out  an'  search 
him?"  proposed  the  chief.  "He's  around  all 
sorts  of  places,  all  times  o'  night — all  these 
newspaper  guys  are.  Why  don't  you  take 
a  good,  husky  cuss  with  you,  give  Mr.  Kern 
the  strong  arm,  an'  go  through  him!" 

"Sure  t'ing,  if  youse'll  square  the  holler," 
said  Billy.  "There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay  an' 
no  pitch  hot.  Letter  say  wot  he's  got!" 

"No,"  said  the  chief,  looking  back  to  the 
unsigned  epistle.  "I  don't  believe  the  guy 
that  wrote  it  knows,  he  just  suspicions.  But 
he  says  to  search  Kern,  an'  we'll  find  some 
thing." 

127 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I'll  search  him,  all  right,"  asserted  Billy. 
"Dick  Schaefer's  in  town;  he's  got  a  strong 
arm  't'll  do  the  trick." 

"You've  got  to  be  mighty  careful,  Billy," 
said  the  chief.  "Go  through  him,  but  don't 
hurt  him.  If  you  do,  an'  anyone  gets  wise, 
the  Star 'II  spend  a  barrel  of  money  to  get 
even,  an'  the  boss  won't  stand  fire."  He 
jerked  his  thumb  toward  that  part  of  the 
building  which  was  supposed  to  shelter  the 
mayor.  Billy  growled  an  unwilling  assent. 

That  night  was  cold,  and  Kern  left  the 
office  just  when  the  cars  were  packed  with 
the  returning  theatre  crowds.  So  he  turned 
up  his  overcoat  collar,  stuck  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  started  to  walk.  He  had 
gone  but  a  few  blocks  when,  as  he  passed  an 
alley,  a  man  slipped  out  of  the  darkness  be 
hind  him,  an  arm  was  passed  suddenly  across 
his  throat,  a  heavy  knee  caught  him  in  the 
small  of  the  back,  and  he  was  jerked  back 
ward  to  the  ground.  Had  the  night  been  a 
warm  one,  he  would  have  been  considerably 
hurt,  in  spite  of  the  chief's  caution;  as  it 
was,  the  overcoat  partly  protected  him,  and 
he  was  lucky  enough  to  save  his  head  from 
striking  sharply  on  the  pavement.  So  it 
came  that,  though  helpless,  he  was  perfectly 

128 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

conscious  as  he  was  dragged  back  into  the 
alley ;  and  the  pressure  on  the  throat  did  not 
wholly  stop  his  breath.  The  arm  shifted 
cautiously,  and  a  pair  of  practised  hands 
went  through  his  pockets.  There  was  a  mut- 
tered  curse  in  a  tone  that  sounded  familiar, 
the  arm  shifted  again,  and  overcoat,  coat,  and 
vest  were  stripped  off.  Kern  could  see  that 
one  of  his  captors  was  a  small  man.  He  be 
gan  making  strangling  noises  in  his  throat — 
not  wholly  without  cause. 

"Let  up,  youse!"  came  a  command  in  a 
voice  that  almost  made  Kern  laugh  outright. 
The  grip  on  his  throat  relaxed,  and  an  elec 
tric  flashlight  was  turned  on  his  face  for 
a  moment.  Then  there  was  a  curse  of 
unusual  emphasis,  and  next  the  sound  of  re 
treating  footsteps.  Kern  waited  a  few 
moments,  and  then  cautiously  picked  himself 
up.  His  clothes  were  lying  in  a  disorderly 
heap  in  the  alley;  but  his  watch  and  pocket- 
book  were  gone.  He  put  on  the  clothing, 
dusting  it  as  well  as  he  could,  found  a  dime 
in  one  vest  pocket,  and  grinning  happily,  he 
caught  a  crowded  car,  and  rode  home. 

Mrs.  Welton  was  up  waiting  for  him. 

"What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Kern,"  she  said, 
with  an  accent  that  warned  him  to  do  his 

9  129 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

tallest  thinking  if  he  would  come  up  to  the 
occasion.  ''There  were  two  men  here  to  see 
you  about  eight  o'clock.  I  told  'em  you 
weren't  in,  and  they  said  they  had  an  ap 
pointment  with  you,  an'  just  walked  past  me. 
Lottie  was  upstairs,  and  she  told  'em  which 
your  room  was.  I  wouldn't  of  done  it.  They 
staid  there  a  long  while,  an'  then  they  come 
down,  an'  said  you  were  a  pretty  fellow  not 
to  keep  your  engagements."  Mrs.  Welton 
had  been  climbing  the  stairs  as  she  delivered 
this  lecture,  and  now  she  paused  in  the  upper 
hall.  ""Well,  I  went  up  after  they'd  gone, 
and — look  there ! ' ' 

She  flung  open  the  door,  and  motioned 
Kern  to  look.  The  room  seemed  to  have  been 
through  a  cyclone.  Books  were  pulled  down, 
bedding  drawn  awry,  drawers  dumped  out 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  "Now,  what  d'ye 
think  of  that?"  demanded  the  good  woman  in 
a  tragic  voice. 

Kern  laughed.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "that 
the  devil  is  really  a  large,  blonde  woman,  with 
yellow  brown  eyes  and  peroxide  hair.  That 
talk  about  a  man  with  hoofed  accompani 
ments  is  a  mistake.  If  you  will  kindly 
straighten  this  mess  a  bit  for  me,  I'll  go  down 
and  phone  the  police." 

130 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  first  part  of  the  speech  made  Mrs. 
Welton  wonder  if  the  man  were  drunk;  but 
the  last  sentence  sounded  sensible.  Kern 
went  to  the  phone. 

"Hello,  Mike,"  he  said.  "This  is  Kern, 
K-e-r-n,  of  the  Star.  Yes.  .  .  .  Say,  Mike, 
I've  been  held  up.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  There  were 
two  men  in  the  job.  One  is  a  middle  sized, 
square  built  chap,  with  the  forefinger  of  his 
left  hand  chewed  off  at  the  second  joint.  .  .  . 
You  bet  I  can  see  in  the  dark,  sometimes. 
Listen  and  see  if  I  can't.  The  other  is  a 
small  guy,  about  five-feet-four,  black  hair, 
scar  on  his  forehead,  great,  big  crooked  nose 
and  eyes  stuck  close  together.  .  .  .  The  little 
chap  had  about  a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
diamonds  on,  and  they  sort  of  lighted  up  the 
alley.  .  .  Yes,  I  said  diamonds.  .  .  .  What's 
the  matter,  Mike,  you  seem  excited?  .  .  . 
They  got  my  watch  and  leather.  .  .  .  Oh,  I 
don't  know,  you  tell  Billy  to  look  it  up  for 
me.  .  .  .  Don't  swear  over  the  phone,  Mike, 
it's  against  the  rules.  .  .  .  Yes,  there  is  some 
thing  else.  .  .  .  They  broke  my  hat,  a  good 
Stetson,  seven  and  a  quarter.  .  .  .  They  were 
up  going  through  my  rooms,  too,  and  the 
landlady  says  they  stole  two  sheets  and  a 
pillow  case.  .  .  .  Mike,  you're  really  nervous. 
.  .  .  Don 't  forget  to  tell  Billy  about  the  hat. ' ' 

131 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Down  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire,  the  chief 
hung  up  the  receiver,  and  turned  on  the  king 
of  Brown  County  with  a  face  like  a  thunder 
cloud.  "You  mutt!"  he  began.  "You— 

you "     He   stopped  to   motion  another 

officer  out  of  the  room,  and  then  his  wrath 
broke  loose.  "He  spotted  you,  you  crook 
nosed  baboon!"  snarled  the  chief;  and  for  ten 
minutes  thereafter  the  king  of  Brown  County 
stood  meekly  under  a  hailstorm  of  vitupera 
tion  that  spared  no  twig  on  his  family  tree, 
and  no  smallest  peculiarity  of  his  appearance 
or  character. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

What  are  the  impressions  of  a  man  who  has  been  in  hell  ? 

THE  morning  after  Kern's  hold-up  was 
clear  and  cold,  with  a  northwest  wind  hum 
ming  down  from  the  hills,  and  a  thin  snow 
lying  in  sheltered  places,  and  drifting  in  ex 
posed  ones.  Kern  slept  so  late  that  even  the 
tolerant  Mrs.  Welton  had  cleared  the  table; 
but  when  he  came  down,  he  was  in  the  mood 
for  action.  A  messenger  boy  had  arrived 
with  a  package  some  hours  before ;  and  now 
the  landlady  brought  the  package  and  stood 
by  to  await  developments.  Kern  took  it  with 
a  grin  that  broadened  as  he  found  his  watch 
and  "leather"  intact;  together  with  a  brand 
new  Stetson ;  also  a  silk  handkerchief  and  a 
box  of  cigars  as  peace  offerings.  Mrs.  Wei- 
ton  made  remarks  tending  to  express  her  firm 
conviction  that  the  like  of  such  doings  was 
never  seen  before,  but  Kern  passed  off  the 
matter  as  a  joke,  and  started  down  town  in 
the  direction  of  the  Broadway  flat. 

The  maid  met  him  at  the  door  to  vow  that 
Mrs.  Evans  was  not  in.  It  was  doubtless  a 
He;  but  Kern  was  hungry,  and  he  was  in 

133 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

no  hurry  to  see  Mrs.  Evans-Greenway.  She 
would  keep.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
again,  and  made  off  for  the  region  of  res 
taurants — where  he  devoured  a  huge  break 
fast,  and  then  went  to  call  on  the  chief  of 
police.  Mike  received  him  in  private  audi 
ence,  and  listened  with  a  sickly  grin  while 
Kern  expounded  ways  and  means  of  improv 
ing  the  police  force.  It  was  tough,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  was  better  than  having  the  same 
things  said  in  the  newspapers;  and  Mike 
gathered  that  Kern  did  not  intend  to  make 
present  use  of  the  incident.  If  you  can  keep 
the  lightning  from  striking  now,  the  storm 
may  blow  over.  That  was  a  large  part  of 
Mike's  philosophy  of  life;  and  he  was  some 
what  comforted. 

"W'y  doesn't  he  give  it  away  now,  I 
wonder?"  asked  Billy  when  the  reporter  had 
gone. 

"Aw,  you  make  me  tired!"  said  the  chief, 
with  an  asperity  which  showed  that  the  same 
question  had  bothered  him.  "He  wants 
somethin'  on  us  by  his  lonesome,  that  the 
paper  ain't  in  on.  You've  gone  and  give  him 
the  chance,  like  a  cussed  fool,  an'  he's  makin' 
the  most  of  it." 

"If  youse  wan't  so  soft,  he  wouldn't  have 

134 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

got  next  to  nothin'  but  a  life  preserver," 
said  Billy.  " That's  the  only  way  to  fix  'em. 
The  man  wot's  knocked  out  don't  know 
nothin'  to  hurt  nobody." 

There  was  plainly  no  answer  to  this  argu 
ment,  and  the  chief  did  not  try  to  find  one. 
He  changed  the  subject. 

"Mind  what  I  tell  you,  we've  got  to  put 
someone  through  for  this  now,  before  this 
guy  changes  his  mind  and  squeals."  He 
jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  door 
through  which  the  reporter  had  disappeared. 

' '  Who  '11  we  get  ? "  queried  Billy.  ' '  We  've 
put  the  screws  on  every  gun  that  was  in  town 
at  the  time,  an'  they've  all  got  away.  It's  a 
fright." 

"Look  here!"  snapped  the  chief,  his  puffy 
lidded  eyes  alight,  and  his  voice  sharp  with 
decision.  "Who's  to  know  who's  in  town, 
an'  who  ain't?  Huh?  D'y'  reckon  the  judges 
keeps  a  visitin'  list  of  the  guns  doin'  business 
in  this  row  of  burgs  ?  Huh  ?  Who  says  where 
a  gun  was  't  some  special  time?  Ain't  there 
any  men  in  your  push  that  knows  anything?" 

"Course,"  protested  Billy;  grieved  at  the 
idea  that  his  department  did  not  know  the 
value  of  judicious  perjury.  "It's  go  in'  to 
be  a  deuce  of  a  lot  of  work,  though. ' ' 

135 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"It'll  be  a  lot  more  work  to  get  another 
snap  like  the  one  we've  got  now,"  countered 
the  chief.  The  entrance  of  another  officer 
closed  the  conversation,  and  Billy  betook  him 
self  to  the  open  air,  to  meditate  on  his  hard 
lot. 

"Are  they  doing  anything  in  the  Harteley 
case?"  asked  the  city  editor  of  Kern.  "They" 
meant  the  police,  of  course. 

"Don't  think  so,"  said  Kern.  "That  is, 
anything  that  counts.  Billy  Brown  and  Fingy 
Dick  held  me  up  last  night  as  I  was  going 
home,  because  someone  had  told  the  chief 
that  I  had  found  a  clue,  and  was  holding  out 
on  them.  Aside  from  that  brilliant  enter 
prise,  I  believe  the  police  are  occupied  with 
other  things  than  the  Harteley  case." 

1 '  Held  you  up ! "  exclaimed  the  city  editor. 
"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that!  Going  to 
write  it  up ! " 

"No.  I've  talked  it  over  with  the  boss, 
and  he's  willing  to  hold  it  in  reserve,  as  a 
club  in  this  gambling  racket.  Mike's  prom 
ised  all  sorts  of  things.  I  tell  you  he  was 
apologetic  this  morning!" 

"Well,  I  should  hope  so,"  said  the  city 
editor.  "What  in  blazes  did  he  think  you'd 

136 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

be  carrying  around  a  clue  for — a  watch 
charm  1 ' ' 

1  'Search  me,"  said  Kern.  "I  know  who 
gave  him  that  song  and  dance,  though,  and 
Mike  doesn't.  You  can't  use  it;  but  there's 
a  lady  of  adventure  up  here  on  Broadway  who 
was  bleeding  Harteley  to  the  queen's  taste 
before  he  got  knifed,  and  she  tried  to  bleed 
his  family  afterwards.  I  stopped  her  little 
game  by  putting  her  private  record  in  the 
hands  of  Brother  Landis;  and  this  is  her 
play  to  get  even." 

"How  did  you  come  to  know  her  record?" 
asked  Jennings,  the  managing  editor,  who 
had  come  up  behind  them.  He  had  never 
quite  ceased  to  speculate  on  Kern's  life  prior 
to  his  advent  on  the  Star. 

"Heard  it  told  in  court  in  a  far  city  in  the 
dear  old  days,"  and  Kern  smiled  quizzically 
at  the  question.  "What's  the  dope  to-day? 
Another  thriller  on  the  police  percentage 
from  a  faro  game?" 

The  "dope"  proved  sufficient  to  keep  Kern 
busy  until  too  late  to  call  on  the  interesting 
Mrs.  Greenway.  It  was  several  days  before 
he  found  a  chance  to  explain  to  her  that  it  is 
unwise  as  well  as  unsportsmanlike  to  mix  up 
the  police  in  one's  private  quarrels.  "You 

137 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

see,  Mrs.  ah — Evans,"  he  said  in  parting, 
'  '  that  thing  is  so  contagious.  It's  worse  than 
the  4  measles,  honor  bright  it  is.  You  run  to 
the  cops  with  a  story  about  me  one  day,  and 
the  next  day  I'm  likely  to  take  'em  a  story 
about  you.  It  wouldn't  matter  so  much  if  I 
could  follow  your  example,  and  keep  to  the 
realm  of  pure  fiction.  But  my  imagination 
wouldn't  be  equal  to  the  strain,  you  know; 
if  I  started,  I'd  be  morally  certain  to  tell  the 
truth — and  you  know  how  disastrous  that 
would  be." 

' '  What  makes  you  think  I  done  it  I "  asked 
Mrs.  Greenway  for  the  twentieth  time.  Her 
grammar  left  something  to  be  desired,  but 
her  meaning  was  clear. 

"Madam,"  said  Kern,  "Mike  couldn't  re 
sist  the  claims  of  friendship,  and  when  I  went 
to  him  the  other  day,  he  showed  me  your 
charming  letter.  If  he  had  known  you,  he 
wouldn  't  have  done  it,  of  course ;  he  'd  have 
been  your  willing  slave,  just  like  the  rest  of 
the  world.  So  the  next  time  you  write  an 
anonymous  letter,  I  '11  bring  Mike  up  here  and 
introduce  him.  Good  night,  now,  and  be 
good." 

It  was  still  early — for  Kern — and  he  chose 
to  walk  home.  When  he  did  this,  he  always 

138 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

crossed  some  vacant  lots  in  a  path  that 
brought  him  out  in  front  of  the  Colvin  home. 
On  this  night,  an  automobile  was  standing 
at  the  curb;  and  as  Kern  came  along,  Miss 
Harteley  came  out  of  the  house,  Mrs.  Colvin 
calling  a  "good  night"  after  her.  She  saw 
Kern,  and  stopped,  drawing  on  her  gloves  the 
while.  The  chauffeur  waited  indifferently. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Kern,"  she  said,  hold 
ing  out  her  hand.  "Mrs.  Colvin  and  I  were 
just  speaking  of  you." 

"How  flattering!  It's  a  cold  night,  isn't 
it." 

"I  like  the  cold  weather,"  Miss  Harteley 
smiled  at  the  clumsy  effort  to  change  the  sub 
ject.  "Mr.  Kern,  I  want  to  make  you  a  plain 
business  proposition — that's  the  right  form, 
isn't  it!  I  want  you  to  quit  newspaper  work 
— don't  refuse,  please,  till  you  hear  me  out. 
I  need  someone  who  knows  the  city  as  Mr. 
Landis  knows  the  law.  I've  a  lot  of  things 
in  mind  that  I  can't  do  without  help.  You've 
given  me  a  great  deal  of  help  for  nothing; 
very  well,  I'll  take  that,  but  I  want  to  pay 
for  the  rest.  You  can  name  your  own 
salary. ' ' 

Kern  shook  his  head,  but  doubtfully;  and 
Miss  Harteley 's  face  brightened  as  he  asked: 

139 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do?" 
"I  want  you  to  find  ways  and  means  of 
using  a  big  fortune  so  that  it  does  good  in 
stead  of  harm.  You  know  this  city  as  no 
other  man  of  my  acquaintance  begins  to  know 
it.  If  you  and  Mr.  Landis  will  work  together, 
one  furnishing  practical  suggestions  and  the 
other  keeping  the  legal  part  straight,  there's 
no  limit  to  the  good  we  can  do.  Papa  used  to 
tell  me  of  firms  who  kept  what  they  called 
an  idea  man.  That's  what  I  want  you  to  be. 
And  that  reminds  me,  Mr.  Kern,  I'm  not 
reconciled  yet  to  having  my  father's  mur 
derers  go  unpunished.  I  want  you  to  go  over 
the  whole  case,  and  then  if  you  won't  under 
take  it  yourself,  give  me  your  advice  as  to 
what  can  be  done." 

Kern  had  been  staring  as  if  in  a  dream  at 
the  lighted  windows  in  the  Colvin  home;  but 
at  the  last  sentence,  he  drew  himself  together 
with  a  quick,  uncompromising  movement  that 
made  Miss  Harteley  lose  hope  at  once.  But 
he  did  not  speak.  Even  as  he  squared  his 
shoulders,  a  sound  of  hurried  footsteps  and 
labored  breathing  called  his  attention  as  it 
did  the  girl 's.  Around  the  corner  which  Kern 
had  avoided  by  the  footpath  came  a  man 
who  walked  with  a  shambling,  stooping, 

140 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

hurried  gait;  breathing  hard,  and  looking 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  hastened.  It  was  not 
the  furtive  hurry  of  a  fugitive  from  justice ; 
it  was  rather  the  frankly  terrified  escape  of 
one  whose  physical  and  mental  resources  are 
both  below  par.  Kern  stared  for  a  moment 
with  puzzled  frown;  and  then,  as  the  porch 
light  fell  on  the  hurrying  wanderer's  face, 
the  reporter  stepped  quickly  to  the  middle  of 
the  sidewalk,  and  grasped  the  man's  shoul 
der.  "Hello,  Gig,"  he  said. 

The  man  jumped  weakly  to  one  side,  and 
stopped,  panting,  while  his  eyes  searched 
Kern's  face  in  fright.  There  was  no  recog 
nition  in  them,  none  in  the  voice  with  which 
he  broke  the  tense  stillness.  "I  don't  know 
you,"  he  said.  "Your  voice  sounds  familiar, 
but  I  don't  know  you.  Let  me  pass!  For 
God's  sake,  let  me  pass!" 

The  chauffeur  swung  round  in  his  seat,  and 
began  to  take  an  interest  in  things.  "Easy, 
Cig,"  said  Kern,  laying  his  hand  once  more 
on  the  other's  shoulder.  "Never  mind  me. 
What  are  you  doing  here,  and  why  are  you 
running  away?" 

The  fellow  looked  over  his  shoulder  with 
the  quick,  frightened  gaze  of  a  hunted  animal. 
"No!  No!  No!"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't  stop 

141 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

me!  Please  don't  stop  me!  I've  been  in 
hell,  and  I  'm  getting  away !  For  God 's  sake, 
don't  send  me  back!" 

"In  hell,  eh?"  said  Kern,  keeping  his  grip. 
"I  want  to  interview  a  man  who's  been  in 
hell."  The  news  instinct  was  roused,  and  he 
scarcely  remembered  Miss  Harteley's  exist 
ence.  He  turned  the  man  till  the  light  fell 
full  on  his  face;  and  the  girl  shuddered. 
One  eye  was  almost  closed  by  a  great,  blue- 
black  swelling,  there  was  a  cut  across  his 
face,  and  a  bit  of  bloody  saliva  lay  on  his 
opened  lips.  "Hell  means  jail,  doesn't  it?" 
said  Kern. 

"Don 'task  me!  Don't  stop  me!  Who  are 
you,  anyway?  For  God's  sake,  let  me  go! 
They'll  catch  me,  an'  jug  me  again!  Who 
are  you  ? ' ' 

"Do  you  remember,  a  long  time  ago,  a 
burly  that  was  going  to  kick  you  out  of  a 
box  car  in  a  blizzard,  when  something 
dropped  on  him?  Well,  I  dropped  it.  Be 
good,  now,  and  tell  me  about  this  hell  you've 
been  in." 

Miss  Harteley  listened  in  speechless  amaze 
ment  to  these  echoes  of  life  in  the  Under 
World.  Kern  touched  the  cut  across  the  face, 
and  spoke  again.  "Keys?"  he  asked.  The 
fellow  nodded. 

142 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"An'  they'll  give  me  worse  if  they  catch 
me  again.  That  man  ain't  a  man,  he's  a 
devil.  This  ain't  nothin'.  But  that  gun  from 
the  outside — Oh,  my  God,  I  can't  tell  you! 
Let  me  go. ' ' 

"Third  degree?"  said  Kern. 

"An'  more,"  agreed  the  man.  "It  was 
hell,  just  hell — an'  Mike  was  the  big  devil. 
Big  devil  an'  little  devil.  They  kneed  him, 
an'  they  hammered  him,  an'  they  turned  the 
hose  on  him,  an'  then  they  put  it  in  his  mouth. 

They "  He  seemed  to  notice  for  the  first 

time  that  a  woman  was  in  hearing,  and 
stopped  abruptly.  "I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said 
again,  and  jerked  his  head  toward  the  dainty 
figure  near  the  car. 

"What  is  this?"  demanded  Miss  Harteley. 
"Who's  being  abused  this  way?  What  is 
it?" 

"I  guess  Mike's  trying  to  earn  that  re 
ward  you  offered,"  answered  Kern,  brutally. 
"It's  nothing  unusual."  He  tried  to  ques 
tion  the  escaping  man  further,  but  Miss 
Harteley  would  not  be  denied. 

"Reward?  How?  What  do  you  mean?" 
Her  face  was  pale  in  the  yellow  light,  but 
there  was  no  hint  of  fear  in  it. 

"Trying  to  beat  up  some  poor  devil  till 

143 


he  owns  to  killing  your  father.  It's  the 
Harteley  case,  isn't  it?"  The  man  nodded, 
and  again  Miss  Harteley  checked  further 
questioning. 

"I'll  withdraw  that  offer  of  a  reward  to 
night!  I  won't  have  this!  I  never  dreamed 
it  would  be  like  this.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me?"  she  demanded  turning  on  Kern.  "Why 
didn't  you — but  you  did!  Oh,  why  didn't  I 
understand  ? ' ' 

"Beg  pardon,  lady,"  said  the  man,  coming 
closer,  and  taking  off  his  battered  hat.  "Are 
you — was  Mr.  Harteley  your  father?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  kindly. 

"There  ain't  no  need  to  take  off  the  re 
ward,  lady,"  said  the  tramp.  "They've  got 
their  man." 

"What!"  cried  the  girl;  and  at  last  Kern 
got  in  his  questions: 

"He's  confessed?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Kid  Brace!"  The  tramp  shivered 
again  as  if  with  ague.  "For  God's  sake,  let 
me  go ! "  he  whined  once  more.  1 1  They  told 
me  to  get  out  of  town  before  midnight.  Let 
me  go ! " 

"Go  on,"  said  Kern,  shoving  some  silver 

144 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

into  the  man's  hand.  "Go  down  this  way, 
see,  and  take  the  Intel-urban.  You'll  make 
it  if  you  hurry.  Miss  Harteley,  please  take 
me  to  the  office  in  this  machine." 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  during  the  swift 
ride.  At  the  office  entrance,  Kern  spoke,  hat 
in  hand.  " Thank  you.  I'll  think  of  that 
other  matter,  and  give  you  an  answer  later." 

He  raced  up  the  stairs  without  waiting 
for  a  reply,  and  the  motor  turned  chugging 
away. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

The  third  degree. 

FOR  once,  Kern  had  been  caught  asleep. 
Mike  had  actually  stolen  a  march  on  him, 
and  only  the  accident  of  meeting  this  wander 
ing  tramp  had  saved  the  Star  from  being 
ingloriously  "bumped."  Kern  knew  the 
general  futility  of  Mike's  efforts  to  catch  any 
criminal  who  did  not  leave  his  signature  and 
address  on  the  scene  of  the  crime;  and 
though  he  knew  likewise  that  Mike  was  mak 
ing  desperate  efforts  to  "cinch  someone,"  he 
counted  on  being  ready  when  the  cinching 
process  began.  Even  when  the  regular  man 
reported  that  there  was  something  unusual 
afoot  at  the  police  station,  Kern  and  the  man 
aging  editor  had  agreed  in  laying  this  to 
their  war  on  open  gambling.  In  reality,  it 
was  due  to  a  telegram  received  that  morning 
at  the  chief's  office.  The  sheriff  of  one  of 
the  mining  counties  had  wired  in  that  he  had 
arrested  a  man  who  was  trying  to  pawn  one 
of  the  pieces  of  jewelry  supposed  to  be  taken 
from  Harteley's  person.  Mike  read  the  long 
telegram;  and  then,  with  an  explosion  of 

146 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

gratified  profanity,  took  down  the  telephone 
receiver  and  called  for  long  distance.  Billy 
was  in  the  private  office,  and  heard  something 
that  made  him  prick  up  his  ears. 

''Hello!  .  .  .  Hello!  ...  Is  this  sheriff  Mac- 
Daniel  I . . .  Say,  Mac,  this  is  Kennedy  . . .  No, 
Kennedy,  Mike  Kennedy. . . .  Got  it!  ...  Say, 
I  got  your  wire.  .  .  .  That's  the  goods,  all 
right.  ...  I  mean  that's  the  pin  that's  miss 
ing.  . . .  Didn  't  he  have  nothing  more  on  him  f 
.  .  .  Unhunh.  .  .  .  Oh  they  all  have  a  spiel 
like  that,  but  they  don't  make  it  work  with 
me.  . . .  Well,  if  you  want  to.  ...  Gets  here  at 
seven?  .  .  .  That's  the  cheese.  .  .  .  Oh,  the 
reward.  .  .  .  I'll  fix  that  for  you  if  he's  the 
guy.  .  .  .  All  right,  say.  .  .  .  Say,  don't  let 
any  of  the  newspapers  get  wise  to  this,  give 
'em  the  bum  steer,  there  mustn't  any  of  'em 
get  wise  to  this.  .  .  .  Bully!  .  .  .  Good-by." 

"Billy,"  said  the  chief,  turning  to  his  faith 
ful  lieutenant,  "We've  got  our  man  on  the 
Harteley  deal.  MacDaniel's  bringing  him 
in." 

"No!"  said  Billy  in  pleased  surprise. 
"Ain't  that  the  candy!  That  jest  natcher- 
ally  saves  our  lives!  Who  is  it!" 

"Kid  Brace,  one  of  the  old  South  Side 
gang.  Look  here,  Billy,  this  has  got  to  be 

147 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

quiet.  I  want  to  bump  that  son  of  a  gun 
Kern,  cuss  him;  and  we've  got  to  keep  the 
Star  dark  till  we  sweat  it  out  of  the  kid." 

" That's  easy,"  said  Billy,  his  quicker 
brain  as  usual  seeing  the  way  to  the  chief's 
desire.  "I'll  take  a  bubble  wagon  and  meet 
the  train  at  Wharton,  an'  we'll  sneak  in  the 
back  way." 

'  *  Bully ! ' '  said  the  chief.  ' '  That'll  turn  the 
trick.  We'll  put  him  through,  an'  give  the 
whole  works  to  the  Herald,  and  let  Kern  stew. 
Then  he  can  squeal  on  that  break  of  yours 
if  he  wants  to. ' ' 

"All  right,"  said  Billy.  "We  ain't  got 
rich  none  at  that  game  yet,  but  all  right. 
How'd  Mac  tumble  to  the  kid?" 

But  the  chief  had  the  receiver  down  once 
more  and  was  calling  toll  line  to  get  full  in 
structions  to  the  sheriff,  and  Billy's  question 
had  to  wait. 

Trains  from  that  part  of  the  mountains 
were  normally  late  from  two  to  nineteen 
hours.  This  time  they  were  unusually 
prompt,  yet  it  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  auto 
with  the  sheriff,  the  deputy-sheriff,  the 
prisoner,  and  Billy  drew  up  at  the  back  of 
the  building.  The  night  captain,  duly  warned, 
had  the  newspaper  men  at  the  front. 

148 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Here  he  is,"  said  the  sheriff.  The  pris 
oner  climbed  down  from  the  machine.  He 
was  a  slim,  undersized  youth,  twenty-two  or 
three  years  old,  with  shifty,  pale  blue  eyes, 
and  a  weak,  incapable,  good-humored  look 
ing  face.  There  was  a  certain  obstinacy 
about  the  face,  though,  but  it  was  of  the 
passive  sort,  and  not  at  all  what  one  would 
look  for  in  the  features  of  a  man  accused  of 
a  desperate  murder.  Just  now,  the  lad's 
cheeks  were  a  bit  flushed  from  the  drive  in 
the  frosty  air.  He  was  wrapped  to  the  ears 
in  a  huge  overcoat  which  he  took  off  and 
handed  to  the  sheriff  as  soon  as  they  entered 
the  building.  "Thank  you,  sheriff,"  he  said. 
"I'd  'a'  froze  if  Vadn't  been  for  that." 

"Who  the  hell'd  care  if  you  did  freeze?" 
said  the  chief,  roughly.  He  drew  apart  with 
the  sheriff  for  a  moment,  while  Billy  watched 
the  prisoner  with  the  tense  caution  of  a 
hungry  cat. 

"I  misdoubt  he's  your  man,"  said  the 
sheriff.  "But  if  he  is,  now,  what  about  the 
reward  ? ' '  He  motioned  his  deputy  near.  He 
was  a  kindly  man,  was  the  sheriff,  but  he  was 
likewise  a  cautious  one,  and  he  did  not  pro 
pose  to  be  without  a  witness. 

"I'll  split  even  with  you,"  said  the  chief. 
He  also  was  a  careful  man. 

149 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"We  arrested  him,"  said  the  sheriff." 

"And  you  got  a  lot  out  of  him,"  sneered 
the  chief.  "It's  arrest  and  conviction,  you 
know.  I'll  make  him  come  through  and  tell 
all  about  it.  If  that  ain't  worth  as  much  as 
your  arrestin'  him,  I'd  like  to  know  why?" 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  sheriff,  after  a 
moment's  thought.  "But  the  coin  must  come 
to  me  first,  y'see?  an'  I'll  do  the  cuttin'. 
Here's  the  pin.  I'm  goin'  to  claim  all  the 
reward  there  is  on  that."  Mike  gave  an  im 
patient  assent.  After  a  minute's  farther  con 
versation,  the  two  men  from  the  mountains 
moved  away,  and  were  taken  by  devious 
routes  to  a  hotel  up  town.  Billy  and  the 
chief  conducted  the  prisoner  along  a  narrow 
passage  way  to  a  room  lighted  by  a  couple 
of  unmantled  gas  jets. 

It  was  a  forbidding  looking  place.  The 
only  furniture,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the 
term,  was  a  flat  heavy  table,  and  two  or  three 
chairs.  Around  the  walls  hung  divers  in 
struments  of  police  interest;  blackjacks,  and 
handcuffs,  and  things  taken  by  the  force 
from  the  Under  World.  There  was  a  door 
in  each  of  the  four  walls.  One,  through 
which  they  had  just  entered,  led  to  the  pas 
sage  and  to  the  rear  of  the  building.  On  the 

150 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

left,  as  they  came  in,  was  a  door  leading  to  a 
side  street.  Directly  in  front  of  them  was 
another  door,  leading  to  a  room  much  like  the 
one  they  were  in,  and  thence  to  the  head 
quarters  at  the  front.  The  three  walls 
pierced  by  these  doors  were  of  the  usual 
wainscoting  and  plaster,  though  much  thicker 
than  similar  partitions  in  an  ordinary  build 
ing.  The  fourth  side  of  the  room,  opposite 
the  street,  was  formed  by  a  metal  grating; 
flat  bands  of  steel  woven  in  an  open  net 
work.  On  the  other  side  of  this  grating,  and 
reached  by  a  low  door,  was  the  older  part 
of  the  jail,  now  empty,  but  full  enough  on 
nights  when  the  dragnet  was  out.  There 
was  first  a  narrow  corridor,  terminating  at 
one  end  in  a  cement  wall,  and  on  the  other 
opening  into  what  was  called  the  hospital 
room.  Off  this  corridor  opened  a  row  of 
cells,  each  a  six  foot  cube  of  steel  grating. 
The  floors  throughout  were  cement.  Near 
one  end  of  the  corridor  was  a  primitive 
sink  basin,  with  two  faucets  above  it,  to  one 
of  which  was  attached  a  common  garden  hose. 
There  was  little  light  and  less  ventilation. 

Now,  Kid  Brace  was  a  hardened  young 
scamp,  though  far  from  a  brave  one.  He 
had  served  a  term  in  prison  for  larceny  com- 

151 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

mitted  in  another  town;  and  in  view  of  the 
evidence  against  him,  had  on  that  occasion 
pleaded  guilty.  He  had  seen  a  number  of 
things  in  his  time  whose  telling  would  not 
be  recommended  as  sleep  inducers  by  any 
nerve  specialist.  He  was  well  aware  that  the 
provision  of  the  law  which  declares  that  a 
man  may  not  be  compelled  to  testify  against 
himself  is  a  dead  letter  in  nine  police  depart 
ments  out  of  ten — indeed,  he  had  never  heard 
of  that  provision  till  told  of  it  by  his  cell  mate 
at  the  penitentiary.  He  knew  that  the  other 
provision  giving  the  prisoner  benefit  of  coun 
sel  is  nothing  but  a  ghastly  joke,  so  far  as 
the  first  examination  of  a  member  of  the 
Under  World  is  concerned.  But  Kid  Brace 
had  seen  nothing,  heard  nothing,  experienced 
nothing  that  helped  him  to  realize  what  he 
was  facing  now ;  and  coward  though  he  was, 
he  felt  little  real  fear.  He  expected  to  be 
cuffed  and  cursed  and  called  a  liar;  to  have 
aspersions  cast  on  his  ancestors  to  the  re 
motest  generation;  to  be  kept  awake  the 
greater  part  of  the  night.  But  he  had  no 
doubt  that  in  the  end  his  story  would  be 
accepted;  and  while  that  meant  a  quick  re 
turn  to  prison,  the  Kid  was  not  squeamish. 
He  saw  Mike  turn,  and  slip  the  bolt  in  the 

152 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

door  through  which  they  had  just  entered. 
He  saw  Billy  cross  the  room,  and  try  the 
street  door,  and  then  the  door  leading  toward 
the  front  of  the  building.  Still  he  did  not 
understand ;  and  took  his  nerve  in  both  hands 
to  prepare  for  the  quizzing  which  he  supposed 
was  ahead.  The  chief  took  a  chair,  and 
lighted  a  cigar.  Billy  remained  standing. 
Obedient  to  a  gesture  from  the  chief,  the  Kid 
advanced,  cap  in  hand,  to  a  post  in  front  of 
the  table,  and  stood  there  for  minutes  that 
seemed  ages  before  the  chief  spoke: 

"Now,  you  -  ,  I  want  you  to 

cut  out  the  bull  con  about  swipin'  that  pin 
in  some  house  uptown,  and  tell  me  the  truth." 

I  am  very  sorry,  just  now,  that  this  is  a 
history,  instead  of  a  romance.  In  a  romance, 
I  could  make  the  characters  talk  as  I  wished 
them  to  talk;  and  would  not  be  obliged  to 
mar  the  fair  page  with  unseemly  dashes.  But 
this  is  history,  and  several  of  the  characters 
in  that  history  did  not  talk  for  publication 
when  they  could  help  it. 

Kid  Brace  answered  stoutly,  though  there 
was  a  quaver  in  his  voice: 

"I've  told  you  the  truth,  so  help  me  God! 
I  come  here  on  the  blind"  —he  named  a  date 
a  week  before  the  crime — "an'  things  wasn't 

153 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

comin'  my  way.  There  was  free  lunches,  an' 
that,  but  I  couldn't  see  nothin'  in  it,  and  the 
officers  was  all  wise  to  me  an'  where  I'd  been 
— in  the  pen,  I  mean.  Then  I  met  Bed,  Red 
Heinze,  you  know,  an*  he  said  he'd  spotted 
a  bunch  of  easy  cribs  an'  wanted  me  for  a 
lookout.  I  said  no;  I'd  just  come  out  of  the 
pen  an'  didn't  want  to  go  back,  so  I  was 
goin'  to  hit  the  road,  an'  try  an'  make  the 
South  for  the  winter.  But  Red,  he  says  it's 
.no  use  goin'  south,  cause  the  bulls  down 
there  is  horstile,  an'  when  you  get  sloughed, 

they  hire  yeh  out  to  slave  drivers,  so 

For  perhaps  half  of  this  recital,  the  chief 
had  silently  puffed  at  his  cigar.  Then  he 
got  up,  and  sauntered  carelessly  to  the  wall 
on  the  street  side  of  the  room.  The  Kid 
looked  after  him,  but  a  sharp  curse  from 
Billy  brought  his  eyes  back,  and  kept  him 
going  on  with  his  story.  The  chief,  unob 
served,  took  down  a  light  club,  covered  with 
leather,  and  turned  back,  holding  it  behind 
him.  He  strolled,  with  the  same  casual  gait, 
to  where  the  Kid  was  standing;  and  then, 
without  a  word  or  movement  of  warning, 
struck  the  lad  across  the  side  of  the  neck, 
knocking  him  in  a  heap  to  the  floor.  As  the 
Kid  fell,  Billy  gave  a  curious,  squatting  leap, 

154 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

and  came  down  with  his  knees  on  the  ribs 
and  belly  of  the  prostrate  boy. 

There  was  a  shrill  scream  at  the  blow, 
cut  off  in  the  middle  as  the  crunching  knees 
drove  the  breath  from  the  boy's  body;  and 
out  from  behind  the  scream  peeped  a  smoth 
ered  cry  that  made  Billy  spring  to  his  feet, 
and  glare  around.  "Wot  was  that?"  he  ex 
claimed.  The  chief's  duller  senses  had  heard 
nothing,  the  room  was  empty  except  for  them 
selves,  and  in  a  moment,  both  turned  to  the 
slight  figure  on  the  floor.  The  blow  had  been 
a  bit  too  hard;  Kid  Brace  was  too  near 
unconscious  to  appreciate  the  efforts  of  his 
captors  at  their  full  value.  Billy  went  to  the 
sink  in  the  corridor,  half  filled  a  bucket  with 
water,  and  coming  back,  dashed  it  in  the 
lad's  face.  The  Kid  gasped  and  shivered 
at  the  icy  douche,  and  then,  rolling  weakly 
to  one  elbow,  tried  to  vomit.  For  a  moment, 
he  retched  and  strangled  unmolested.  Then 
the  fit  passed,  the  chief's  huge  hand  closed 
on  his  collar;  and  he  was  lifted  like  a  doll, 
and  slammed  into  a  chair. 

"Now,  damn  you,"  said  the  chief,  "maybe 
you'll  cut  out  the  hogwash  and  give  us  the 
straight  dope!"  He  shook  the  leather  cov 
ered  stick  before  the  prisoner's  eyes.  The 

155 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

chief's  face  was  flushed  with  wrath,  but  Billy 
was  leering  in  frank  enjoyment  of  the  tor 
ture  ;  and  it  was  at  Billy's  look  that  the  Kid 
shuddered.  "Tell  us  how  you  killed  Bill 
Harteley,"  said  the  chief;  "an'  who  was 
with  you !  Be  quick  about  it !  Come  through, 
now ! ' ' 

Doubtless  the  boy  would  have  "come 
through"  but  for  one  circumstance.  He  had 
served  a  term  in  prison,  as  has  been  said  be 
fore;  and  during  that  term,  he  had  seen  a 
man  hanged.  Now,  hangings  in  general  do 
little  to  curb  the  criminal  aspirations  of  any 
one — saving  those  of  the  man  who  is  hanged, 
but  here  was  an  exception.  Kid  Brace  was 
one  of  those  worthless  idlers  who  drift  into 
crime  because  it  seems  easier  than  work.  He 
had  not  the  ambition  and  persistent  daring 
of  the  cracksman;  still  less  the  truculent 
courage  of  the  road  agent.  He  was  a  sneak- 
thief,  with  a  sneak-thief's  cowardice,  a  sneak- 
thief's  caution  and  cunning;  and  more  than 
all,  he  had  the  enduring  obstinacy  which  is 
sometimes  the  coward's  substitute  for  cour 
age.  The  hanging  had  fairly  paralyzed  him 
with  horror;  and  its  memory  had  haunted 
his  dreams  ever  since.  And  now,  in  front  of 
his  swimming  eyes,  rose  that  vision.  He 

156 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

could  see  the  shrinking  form  half  carried  up 
the  steps  of  the  gallows ;  he  could  hear  again 
the  prayers  for  mercy,  could  recall  every 
whimpering  tone  of  the  wretch  who  had  mur 
dered  his  wife;  but  who  cried  aloud  that 
the  state  had  no  right  to  murder  him.  The 
nervous  haste  of  the  white-faced  officers,  the 
soothing  voice  of  the  priest,  the  thud  of  the 
drop,  the  heave  of  the  straining  body;  and 
the  face  that  was  revealed  as  the  black  cap 
fell  off — Kid  Brace  could  hear  and  see  it 
all  in  that  one  terrible  pause.  For  this  crime 
they  were  trying  to  fix  on  him  was  a  hang 
ing  matter,  and  if  he  confessed .  He 

turned  to  his  persecutors  with  a  sobbing  cry 
that  seemed  to  shake  the  thick  walls. 

"I  didn't  kill  him!  I  didn't  kill  him!  I 
never  seen  him!  Honest  to  God,  I'm  telling 
the  truth!  Can't  you  see  I'm  telling  the 
truth!  Oh,  please,  please—  He  slipped 
from  the  chair,  and  knelt  at  the  chief's  feet. 
Billy  laughed  raucously  at  the  poor  thief's 
frenzied  plea;  and  then  that  plea  went  out 
in  a  coughing  gasp  as  the  chief  twisted  his 
hand  in  the  lad's  collar,  lifted  him  from  his 
knees,  and  half  carried,  half  flung  him  across 
the  room,  down  on  the  cement  of  the  cor 
ridor.  "You  gutter  snipe!"  said  the 

157 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

chief,  in  part.  "Look  at  the  floor,  there!" 
He  thrust  his  finger  toward  the  puddle  of 
water  where  the  bucket  had  been  emptied 
in  the  Kid's  face;  and  Billy  pointed  the  ob 
servation  with  a  kick  in  the  ribs.  One  of 
these  seemed  to  be  broken,  for  the  lad 
shrieked  again;  and  again,  out  from  be 
hind  the  scream,  peeped  that  smothered  cry. 
But  neither  Billy  nor  the  chief  noticed  it 
now. 

"Come  through  with  the  goods!"  was  the 
chief's  order  once  more.  "You  got  in  through 
the  window,  now ;  who  was  with  you  ? ' '  The 
chief  had  none  of  the  law's  foolish  prejudices 
about  leading  questions ;  and  as  he  asked  this 
one,  he  and  Billy  stooped  as  by  a  common 
impulse,  and  lifted  the  boy  upright,  jamming 
him  against  the  steel  grating  of  a  cell.  They 
had  labored  together  so  long  that  their  team 
work  was  flawless.  Billy,  grinning  like  the 
human  leopard  that  he  was,  dug  his  thumb 
into  the  side  of  the  boy's  neck,  hunting  for 
the  place  where  the  great  nerve  trunks  curve 
downward  over  a  bony  promontory  of  the 
skull.  He  knew  nothing  of  anatomy,  but 
his  experiments,  or  perchance  a  tradition 
handed  down  from  the  days  of  the  judicial 
Question,  had  taught  him  that  there  is  a 

158 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

place  in  the  neck  where  pressure  will  cause 
the  most  terrific  pain.  The  lad  writhed  and 
choked,  though,  somehow  Billy  missed  the 
exact  spot. 

"Was  Bed  Heinze  with  you?"  demanded 
the  chief.  His  experiments  had  taught  him 
that  an  accused  man,  properly  persuaded, 
will  often  answer  a  question  of  this  kind  when 
he  will  stoutly  resist  a  confession  direct. 

But  the  torturers  were  working  against 
themselves.  They  had  roused  the  lad's  fixed 
idea,  his  tense,  unreasoning  horror  of  being 
hanged;  and  for  the  moment,  at  least,  this 
was  more  powerful  than  all  their  strong  per 
suasions.  The  pressure  on  his  throat,  the 
searching  thumb,  like  a  knot  under  the  left 
ear,  the  very  posture,  upright,  but  helpless, 
all  brought  back  that  scene  in  the  prison 
yard.  The  boy  could  not  make  the  desired 
confession.  He  tried,  but  his  lips  would  not 
form  the  words.  The  sweaters  saw  the  effort, 
and  released  his  throat,  though  still  holding 
him  tightly  pressed  against  the  grating.  The 
breath  rushed  into  the  lad's  tortured  lungs, 
but  when  it  came  back,  it  was  laden  not  with 
confession,  but  with  denial. 

"I  didn't  kill  him!  I  never  seen  him!  I 
pinched  the  sticker,  but  I  never  killed  no 
body!  I'm  telling  the  truth,  so  help " 

159 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  chief's  fist  crashed  into  the  lad's  face. 
Billy  laughed  again.  "He  needs  coolin'," 
said  Billy.  He  went  to  the  main  room,  and 
came  back  with  a  couple  of  straps.  The  chief 
was  busy  with  the  Kid's  clothing.  When  they 
were  ready,  the  chief  stood  back,  and  Billy, 
grinning  happily,  got  the  hose. 

"I'll  cool  yuh,"  he  said.  "I'll  cool  yuh, 
inside  an'  out!" 

Frisco  Cig  was  a  harmless  and  amusing 
wastrel;  with  a  sweet,  throaty  tenor  voice, 
hoarse  from  much  sleeping  in  the  open ;  and 
a  brain  that  without  being  positively 
"cracked"  was  decidedly  "queer."  Treated 
kindly,  his  intelligence  seemed  quite  up  to  the 
average.  Bullied,  or  above  all,  teased,  and  he 
simply  went  to  pieces.  In  spite  of  this  weak 
ness,  he  had  crossed  the  continent  more  times 
than  a  presidential  candidate ;  and  had  been 
in  more  jails  than  the  prison  reform  associa 
tion  has  ever  found  time  to  list.  He  had 
friends  in  every  police  force  and  on  every 
railroad.  It  was  a  rare  thing  for  Frisco 
Cig  to  be  ditched  for  lack  of  a  tip,  to  be 
jailed  in  good  weather,  or  left  to  walk  the 
streets  in  bad.  But  the  night  before,  he  had 
encountered  a  "hostile  shack,"  in  other 

160 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

words,  an  unfriendly  brakeman;  and  had 
been  chased  from  the  lumber  car  in  which 
he  proposed  entering  the  city  where  Mike 
held  sway.  True,  Cig  had  caught  a  " blind" 
a  little  later,  and  had  reached  the  city  sooner 
than  he  would  have  done  on  the  freight.  But 
instead  of  coming  in  warm  and  comfortable, 
he  had  landed  chilled  to  the  marrow;  his 
thin  legs  wobbling  with  the  cold,  and  his 
brain  keeping  his  legs  company  in  their  un 
steady  dance.  Through  the  day,  he  wan 
dered  from  saloon  to  saloon  in  the  lower  part 
of  town.  Toward  dusk,  a  kind  hearted  police 
man  picked  him  up,  gave  him  a  bowl  of  soup 
and  a  drink  of  whiskey,  and  took  him  to  the 
jail.  There  were  some  "tough  nuts"  serv 
ing  time  in  the  jail  just  then,  and  the  officer, 
knowing  that  these  would  torture  the  infirm 
lad  with  teasing  and  bullying,  had  taken  him 
to  the  hospital  room,  brought  him  a  pair  of 
blankets,  and  left  him. 

Alone,  with  the  warmth  of  the  soup  and  the 
whiskey  diffusing  itself  over  his  system,  the 
tramp  pulled  down  one  of  the  folding  cots, 
wrapped  himself  in  the  blankets,  and  went 
to  sleep.  Some  time  later,  he  awoke.  He 
heard  a  door  slam  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
building,  and  felt,  rather  than  heard,  the 

11  161 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

sound  of  approaching  feet.  Then  hinges 
creaked  near  by,  steps  shuffled,  and  Cig's  ear 
noticed  that  the  door  was  not  merely  shut  but 
locked.  He  threw  off  his  blankets,  expecting 
a  companion.  None  came,  and  the  ominously 
quiet  shuffle  in  the  nest  room  roused  his  curi 
osity.  Then  came  the  chief's  voice  in  hoarse 
command,  and  then  another  voice,  trembling 
with  nervous  apprehension.  Frisco  Cig  crept 
noiselessly  down  the  corridor,  and  peered 
out. 

He  saw  or  heard  it  all.  He  saw  the  wanton 
blow,  saw  Billy's  fiendish  leap;  and  then, 
as  that  human  panther  turned  to  the  cor 
ridor,  Cig  ran  noiselessly  into  the  hospital 
room,  and  cowered  with  his  face  in  the 
blankets.  He  heard  the  splash  of  water,  and 
peeped  out  in  time  to  see  the  tortured  boy 
flung  down  on  the  floor  of  the  corridor. 
Crouching  on  the  floor,  he  peered  through 
the  grating  with  eyes  that  would  not  shut— 
till  Billy  came  with  the  hose.  Then  Cig 
turned  away.  He  knew  what  that  meant. 
From  the  sounds,  he  could  reconstruct  the 
whole  scene.  He  heard  the  strangling  gurgle, 
the  noisy  swallowing ;  and  then  came  a  shriek 
that  rang  through  the  building  as  Billy  found 
the  spot  in  the  neck  for  which  he  had  been 

162 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

searching,  and  the  Kid  realized  at  last  that 
there  are  worse  things  than  hanging.  Frisco 
Cig  drove  his  fists  into  his  ears,  and  clenched 
his  teeth  on  a  blanket  in  the  effort  to  shut 
out  the^sound.  There  were  no  more  shrieks; 
but  after  a  time  which  he  could  not  even 
reckon,  he  heard  a  confused  murmur  of 
voices.  Cig  resisted  as  long  as  he  could ;  then 
slowly,  fearfully,  took  his  hands  from  his 
ears.  The  chief  was  speaking. 

"You  own  up  you  done  it?" 

"Yes,  I  done  it."  There  was  utter  weari 
ness,  rather  than  pain,  in  the  tone. 

'  *  Tell  who  was  with  you. ' ' 

No  reply.  Cig  heard  an  indefinite  mumble 
as  of  one  trying  to  recall  a  name. 

' ' Was  it  Bed  Heinze ! ' '  This  in  the  chief's 
voice  again. 

"Yes.  It  was  Bed  Heinze,  of  course." 
There  was  the  sound  of  violent  retching ;  and 
then  a  third  voice  chimed  in.  "He's  about 
all  in,"  said  this  third  person.  "You'd  bet 
ter  wait!" 

"Wait  -    -!"  said  the  chief. 

"  Youse  go  chase  yourself!"  grated  a  snarl 
ing  voice  that  made  Cig  shiver. 

The  chief's  rough  baritone  was  heard  once 
more.  "Let  him  get  strong,  an'  have  it  all 

163 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

to  do  over  again?  You're  a  h —  of  a  humane 
man !  You  got  in  by  the  window  ? ' ' 

"  By  the  window.  Yes.  Got  in  by  the  win 
dow.  ' '  The  voice  was  very  faint  by  this  time, 
and  the  surgeon  spoke  once  more.  He  knew 
his  place  depended  on  Mike's  favor,  and  he 
had  all  the  careless  cruelty  of  a  shiftless, 
clever  man;  but  this  was  really  going  too 
far. 

4 'Get  him  in  bed,  anyway,"  advised  the 
surgeon.  The  chief's  voice  growled  some 
thing  that  seemed  meant  for  assent.  Steps 
came  in  the  direction  of  the  hospital  room, 
steps  accompanied  by  a  queer  metallic  clink 
ing.  Cig  cowered  at  the  side  of  the  cot.  The 
steps  paused,  there  came  an  explosion  of 
oaths,  culminating  in  a  kick  and  an  order  to 
get  up.  Cig  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  shrank 
away,  covering  his  face  with  his  arms. 

"Put  down  your  hands!"  commanded 
Billy.  Cig  obeyed,  wondering  what  the  order 
meant.  The  explanation  arrived  in  the  shape 
of  a  blow  across  the  face  from  the  heavy 
jail  keys.  There  followed  a  few  moments  of 
abuse,  and  Cig  was  conducted  to  the  outer 
door.  " Beat  it,  youse!"  snarled  Billy.  "Get 
out  before  midnight.  If  I  find  youse  in  town 
to-morrow,  I'll  cut  yer  heart  out!" 

164 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

And  as  Frisco  Cig  dashed  aimlessly  up  the 
street,  the  king  of  Brown  County  turned  back 
to  the  hospital  room,  leaving  the  door  un 
locked.  The  need  for  caution  had  passed. 


CHAPTER    XV 

It  may  be  foolish  for  the  farmer  to  lock  the  door  after  the 
horse  is  stolen,  but  there  are  times  when  the  thief  should 
do  so. 

AT  the  Star  office,  having  darted  up  the 
stairs,  Kern  ran  through  the  big  common 
room  to  save  the  time-cost  of  turning  a  sharp 
corner,  and  plunged  into  Jennings'  room 
without  knocking.  The  city  editor  was  there, 
also.  Both  men  looked  up  at  Kern's  head 
long  entrance,  and  the  city  editor  started  to 
speak,  but  was  forestalled.  "What  have  you 
heard  from  the  police,  and  when  ? ' '  From  the 
sharp,  imperative  air  of  Kern's  question,  one 
might  have  thought  the  positions  of  the  two 
men  reversed. 

"Nothing  doing.  He  called  up  not  ten 
minutes  ago,"  answered  the  city  editor. 

"Thought  so,"  and  Kern  caught  up  the 
telephone.  "Mike's  trying  to  bump  us.  He's 
pinched  a  man  for  the  Harteley  murder. 
Sweated  him  for  a  confession.  Beat  him  half 
to  death  and  then  gave  him  the  water  cure. ' ' 
The  words  were  fired  like  shots  at  target 
practice  in  the  intervals  of  getting  the  de- 

166 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

sired  connection  with  the  Star's  man  at  the 
police  station. 

"Hello,  Dick.  .  .  .  Everything  quiet? 
.  .  .  Say,  there's  a  deal  on.  ...  No. 
.  .  .  You  try  to  keep  the  gang  to 
gether  in  front,  and  don't  let  that  Herald 
fellow  sneak  out  if  you  can  help  it.  ... 
Leave  the  rest  to  me." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  turned  once 
more  to  his  companions.  They  knew  each 
other,  and  there  was  no  need  of  either  asking 
or  proffering  advice.  On  an  occasion  like 
this,  the  man  with  the  story  was  the  man  in 
command. 

"It's  Kid  Brace,"  explained  Kern.  "A 
common  sneak-thief,  without  pluck  enough  to 
kill  a  cat.  It's  most  eleven  now.  With  good 
luck,  I'll  be  back  here  before  twelve  with  the 
story;  but  it's  an  even  chance  they'll  throw 
me  in  jail.  I  wish  you'd  call  up  Whiteman, 
of  the  humane  society,  and  send  him  down  to 
the  city  jail,  old  part,  Seventh  Street  en 
trance.  If  I'm  not  here  by  a  little  after 
twelve,  you'll  know  they've  run  me  in — and 
by  God !  if  they  do  I'll  try  to  make  it  the  last 
fellow  Billy  ever  does  run  in!" 

He  was  gone  at  the  same  racing  pace,  and 
they  heard  him  ask  one  of  the  reporters  for 
a  wheel. 

167 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Well  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  asked 
the  city  editor.  "How  did  he  get  wise  to 
the  game?" 

Jennings  finished  calling  Whiteman  before 
answering. 

"I  don't  know.  You'd  better  clear  the 
decks  for  a  big  story,  and  send  Dan  down 
with  his  kodak  to  lurk  around  and  see  if 
there's  a  chance  for  a  flashlight.  Good  Lord ! 
I  hope  Billy  doesn't  try  to  arrest  him!" 

"I'd  hate  the  job,  myself,"  said  the  city 
editor. 

"And  they're  just  about  dirty  enough  to 
try  it.  Well,  Whiteman  will  head  off  a  row  if 
anyone  will." 

Kern's  apprenticeship  on  police  duty  was 
invaluable  to  him  now.  He  knew  the  torture 
chamber,  as  he  frequently  called  it;  and  he 
knew  two  ways  of  reaching  it  without  passing 
through  the  front  office.  If  the  street  door 
were  unlocked,  well  and  good;  if  not,  he 
could  go  upstairs  to  the  police  court,  and 
down  the  back  stairs  to  a  room  that  opened 
on  the  old  jail  passage;  and  if  both  ways 
were  barred,  he  had  knowledge  enough  to 
bluff  Mike  into  giving  the  Star  an  equal 
chance  with  the  other  papers.  But  the  street 
door  was  unlocked.  Kern  tried  it  stealthily, 

168 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

and  as  it  gave  under  his  hand,  he  slipped  in 
side  with  a  quick  movement,  and  closed  it 
noiselessly  behind  him.  The  room  was  empty, 
but  from  beyond  the  grating  came  a  murmur 
of  voices.  Kern  slid  out  of  his  overcoat  with 
the  same  grimly  silent  haste ;  and  tiptoed  over 
the  water  drenched  floor  to  the  hospital  room. 
For  an  instant,  he  paused  in  the  door,  un 
seen  ;  and  then  with  a  gliding  rush  that  had 
more  than  a  hint  of  the  football  field,  he 
crossed  half  the  room,  and  caught  the  wrist 
of  Billy  Brown.  There  was  a  twist,  a  trip, 
and  a  push  all  in  one ;  and  the  king  of  Brown 
County  found  himself  spread-eagled  against 
the  wall,  and  looking  into  a  pair  of  spectacled 
eyes  that  gleamed  as  savagely  as  his  own. 
' '  You  damned  fiend ! ' '  said  Kern ;  and  the 
muscles  of  his  jaws  tightened  till  his  beard 
seemed  to  jerk.  He  closed  his  grip  on  the 
wrists  with  a  twisting  movement  that  made 
Billy  squirm  with  pain,  and  then — Billy  never 
knew  just  how  it  happened,  but  he  was  pitched 
sideways  to  the  floor,  and  in  his  fall,  some 
thing  pulled  at  his  belt.  He  sat  up  quickly 
with  a  snarl,  and  stopped,  staring.  His  pet 
revolver  was  lying  on  Kid  Brace's  cot;  and 
Kern's  right  hand  dangled  suggestively  with 
in  two  inches  of  the  butt  of  the  weapon.  The 

169 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

two  men  eyed  each  other  for  a  moment,  and 
then  Kern's  lip  lifted  in  a  sneer.  "Well?" 
he  said,  coolly. 

Billy  did  not  answer.  He  was  wriggling 
his  shoulders  and  scowling  malevolently ;  but 
he  made  no  move  to  attack.  There  was  not 
a  drop  of  cowardly  blood  in  his  whole  fero 
cious  body;  but  he  was  essentially  a  beast 
of  prey,  and  the  beast  of  prey,  whether  of 
the  street  or  of  the  jungle,  takes  no  unneces 
sary  chances.  The  surgeon's  face  wore  a 
look  of  unalloyed  delight.  Mike  entered  the 
hospital  room  by  another  door,  and  stopped 
with  dropping  jaw  as  he  saw  the  Star's 
favorite  reporter  sit  down  on  the  prisoner's 
cot. 

"Where  in  did  you  blow  in  from?" 

he  demanded. 

"From  the  office,  of  course,"  answered 
Kern.  "It's  more  to  the  point  that  I  blew 
in  here  in  time  to  catch  this  hell-pup  of 
yours  knuckling  a  sick  prisoner."  He  called 
on  the  surgeon  for  confirmation  with  a  sharp 
gesture,  and  the  surgeon  nodded.  Mike 
shrugged  his  shoulders  heavily. 

"Cut  it  out,  Billy,"  he  said.  The  king  of 
Brown  County  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and 

went  out,  rubbing  his  shoulders.    The  chief 
no 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

spoke  again.  "There  ain't  no  use  makin'  a 
fuss  over  him,"  he  said,  jerking  his  head 
to  indicate  the  prisoner.  "He's  got  more  of 
a  chokin'  than  that  comin'  to  him.  That's 
one  of  the  guys  that  murdered  Bill  Harte- 
ley." 

Kid  Brace  groaned,  and  looked  round  with 
weak,  hunted  eyes.  He  had  begun  to  recover 
from  the  admonishing  of  the  officers  of  the 
law;  and  as  the  pressure  of  present  pain 
grew  less  distinct,  the  numbed  horror  of 
being  hanged  woke  to  life  again.  And  here 
was  a  friend,  surely;  and  a  strong  one,  too. 
He  gave  one  more  look  at  Mike,  and  took  the 
chance. 

"Oh,  Mister!"  he  pleaded.  "I  didn't  kill 
him!  Don't  let  them  hang  me!  Don't  let 
them  hang  me!  I  didn't  kill  him — I  never 
seen  him!" 

* '  Aw,  cut  out  that  bull  con ! ' '  said  the  chief, 
stepping  forward.  "It  aint  going  to  do  you 
any  good.  You've  confessed,  an'  we've  got 
it  all  down  in  black  an'  white." 

"What  about  red  and  blue?"  said  Kern, 
pointing  to  the  Kid's  cut  lip  and  damaged 
nose,  where  the  chief's  fist  had  landed.  "I'd 
like  to  see  that  confession,  Mike.  You  tried 
to  bump  us  on  this  little  deal,  and  you've 

171 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

lost  out,  so  you  might  as  well  be  good." 
The  chief's  answer  seemed  to  indicate  assent, 
though  it  was  couched  in  highly  metaphori 
cal  language.  "Meantime,"  went  on  the  re 
porter,  "I'll  look  a  bit  farther  here." 

The  Kid  was  in  a  suit  of  underclothes, 
which  had  doubtless  been  clean  when  he  left 
the  penitentiary.  Kern  slid  up  first  one 
sleeve,  and  then  the  other.  "Strychnine!" 
he  asked  as  he  found  the  tiny  puncture  he 
had  been  looking  for;  and  the  surgeon  nod 
ded  assent.  Kern  noted  the  throat,  red  with 
the  marks  of  gripping  hands ;  felt  the  bump 
where  the  back  of  the  Kid's  head  had  been 
jammed  against  the  grating ;  and  at  last  flung 
down  the  blanket  and  stripped  up  the  under 
shirt,  revealing  the  thin,  naked  body.  The 
chief  had  been  watching  uncomfortably,  but 
here  he  interposed. 

"Aw,  what  do  you  want  to  do  that  for?" 
he  said,  and  made  a  motion  to  pull  down  the 
dirty  garment.  But  Kern's  hands  were 
already  pressing  the  lad's  chest,  and  even  as 
the  chief  spoke  came  a  shrill  cry  which  told 
the  story  the  reporter  had  expected.  He 
straightened  up  and  faced  the  surgeon. 

"This  kid's  ribs  are  smashed,"  he  said. 
"Why  haven't  you  put  on  a  plaster ?" 

172 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 


.  i 


'I  was  just  getting  ready  to  do  it  when 
you  came  in,"  said  the  surgeon,  putting  his 
hands  to  the  spot. 

' '  Yes,  you  were — nix, ' '  said  Kern.  ' '  Hello, 
Whiteman.  Sorry  to  drag  you  out  of  bed,  but 
this  is  a  case  after  your  own  heart. ' ' 

The  chief  swore  in  bewildered  anger. 
"Here!"  he  said  "  Where 'd  you  come  from? 
I  ain't  going  to  have  the  whole  — • —  town  in 
this  jail!"  He  approached  threateningly. 

"Of  course,  if  you  send  me  out,  I'll  go," 
said  the  newcomer,  suavely.  "But  we've 
been  getting  on  so  nicely  it  would  be  a  pity 
to  quarrel. ' '  He  went  to  the  cot  without  wait 
ing  for  Mike's  reply,  and  began  going  over 
the  boy's  chest  with  practised  fingers.  White 
man  had  qualified  for  a  medical  missionary 
abroad,  and  had  then  elected  to  stay  with 
the  more  difficult  heathen  at  home.  "Two," 
he  said.  "Isn't  that  what  you  make  it?" 

The  police  surgeon  assented,  and  Kern's 
lip  curled  in  a  sneer.  "That's  Billy's  work," 
he  said.  "Done  with  the  knees.  First  time 
I  ever  saw  that  was  in  an  asylum  investiga 
tion.  You  see,  it  doesn't  mark  the  skin." 

"He  fell  against  the  cot,"  said  the  chief, 
stolidly. 

"Sure  he  did,"  sneered  Kern.     "How'd 

173 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

you  get  this?"  he  asked  the  boy,  touching 
the  bruised  face. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  said  the  lad  weakly, 
looking  at  Mike  in  dread.  "Mister,  please 
don't  let  them  hang  me — please  don't!  I 
didn't  do  it— I  swear  to  God  I  didn't  do  it!" 

"I  know  you  didn't  do  it,"  said  Kern 
soothingly.  ''Anybody  but  a  policeman 
would  know  you  couldn't  do  it.  We  won't  let 
'em  hang  you,  don't  worry." 

Mike  grunted  at  the  direct  challenge,  and 
stalked  out,  sending  a  sergeant  to  take  his 
place.  Whiteman  whispered  something  that 
brought  an  exclamation  of  pleasure  from 
Kern;  who  immediately  volunteered  to  go 
out  for  some  hot  coffee.  Dan  was  outside 
with  a  kodak,  and  a  flash-light  pistol.  Kern 
settled  on  a  plan  in  a  moment's  curt  counsel, 
got  the  coffee,  and  ran  back.  The  surgeon 
had  secured  his  adhesive  plaster,  and  now 
ordered  the  Kid  to  stand  up.  The  lad  shiv 
ered  as  his  feet  touched  the  cold  cement. 
Things  were  working  admirably. 

"There's  a  carpet  in  here,"  said  Kern,  in 
dicating  the  room  next  to  the  torture  cham 
ber,  and  also  equipped  with  a  street  door. 
"Can't  you  let  him  stand  on  that?"  The 
Herald  reporter,  just  in,  joined  in  the  re- 

174 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

quest;  and  Whiteman  lifted  the  boy,  and 
carried  him  into  the  room,  "The  chief  said 
we  could  see  that  confession,  Sergeant,"  said 
Kern  next.  "Where  is  it?" 

"This  way,"  said  the  sergeant,  leading 
the  way  to  the  torture  chamber.  The  re 
porters  followed.  They  were  reading  the 
short  document  when  they  heard  the  dull  ex 
plosion  of  the  flash-light. 

"What  was  that?"  demanded  the  sergeant, 
and  went  out  to  see.  In  a  moment  he  came 
running  back  to  look  for  Kern,  and  hold  him 
accountable  for  the  trick,  but  Kern  had  gone, 
too. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

A  really  wise  maxim  keeps  as  far  as  possible  from  facts. 
This  is  why  maxims  last  so  long,  when  facts  are  so  rough. 

THE  breakfast  group  at  Mrs.  Welton's  was 
more  compact  than  usual  next  morning,  and 
more  deliberate  in  its  eating.  Kern's  story, 
signed  and  fearsomely  illustrated,  covered 
more  than  half  the  first  page ;  and  his  fellow 
boarders  were  hoping  for  additional  details 
by  word  of  mouth.  To  one  who  surmised 
that  the  reporter  would  be  extra  late,  Mrs. 
Welton  made  answer  that  he  always  got  up 
early  when  he  was  out  all  night;  and  with 
this  doubt  resolved,  three  or  four  settled 
themselves  to  wait.  Kern  came  down  nearly 
an  hour  in  advance  of  his  usual  time ;  look 
ing  thin  and  wire-drawn  as  though  the  work 
were  telling  on  him.  But  he  grinned  in  frank 
amusement  at  the  waiting  group,  and  greeted 
them  with  a  cheery  "Hello!" 

"Did  I  get  scooped  on  anything?"  he 
asked. 

"Not  that  the  court  knows  of,  and  she's 
wise  to  most  things,"  said  Gray.  "Say, 

176 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

that's  the  greatest  yarn  I  ever  read.  How'd 
you  get  it?" 

"Luck,"  said  Kern.  "Blind  luck.  I'd  done 
my  stunt  and  come  away;  and  fell  over  the 
tip  right  across  the  street  here,  in  front  of 
your  house,  Mrs.  Colvin.  But  so  long  as  we 
didn't  get  bumped  in  the  end,  it's  all  right." 

"That  picture  you  took  came  out  well," 
said  Mrs.  Colvin. 

"I  didn't  take  it,"  said  Kern.  "As  a  cam 
era  expert,  I'm  nowhere.  That's  about  the 
twentieth  time  we've  tried  to  sneak  a  flash 
that  way — never  on  the  police  before,  though 
—and  up  till  last  night,  just  one  of  the  pic 
tures  came  through.  This  makes  two.  Dan '11 
be  getting  all  puffed  up." 

"Took  a  twenty  to  one  shot,  did  you?" 
queried  Gray. 

"It  was  a  case  where  you'd  take  a  thousand 
to  one,"  said  Kern.  He  laughed  reminis- 
cently  as  he  stirred  his  coffee.  "Whew !  Mike 
was  in  a  sweet  temper  over  that!" 

"Small  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Colvin.  "How 
in  the  world  did  you  get  it?" 

Kern  detailed  the  trick  at  some  length,  with 
abundant  praise  for  Dan.  "But  the  real  fun 
came  later,"  he  said.  "Mike  phoned  up  to 
the  office,  and  then  came  up  himself  to  get 

12  177 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

the  picture  back.  He  swore  he'd  pull  the 
office  if  he  didn't  get  that  picture,  and  the 
managing  editor  invited  him  to  begin  pulling 
whenever  he  was  ready.  Mike  was  spitting 
cotton  and  dancing  on  eggs  there  for  an 
hour. ' ' 

' '  Why  didn  't  he  make  good  ? ' '  asked  Gray. 
Kern  sniffed  contemptuously. 

"He  hasn't  the  nerve.  Mike  Kennedy  is 
just  a  great  big  bluffer,  with  a  yellow  streak 
a  foot  wide  clear  down  his  back;  and  he 
knows  Jennings  knows  it.  Jennings  told  him 
that  if  he  tried  to  stop  the  presses,  he'd  get 
hurt;  and  Mike  didn't  call.  He  fumed  around 
outside  the  door  of  the  room  where  I  was 
writing,  and  the  boss  came  and  chased  him 
away  from  that.  Oh,  it  was  a  fine  night," 
he  concluded.  "The  only  thing  lacking  to 
make  it  perfect  would  have  come  if  Mike 
had  tried  to  carry  out  his  threat." 

"What  beats  me  is  why  he  didn't  arrest 
you  when  he  had  you  there  at  the  jail,"  said 
Gray. 

"He  was  rushed  off  his  feet,"  explained 
Kern.  "Mike  doesn't  think  well  in  a  hurry. 
He  thought  he  had  the  whole  thing  framed 
up,  and  then  I  dropped  in.  He  didn't  know 
where  I  got  the  tip,  nor  how  much  I  knew, 

178 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

nor  what  the  Star  might  be  able  to  prove. 
If  I'd  been  there  half  an  hour  longer,  he 
would  have  jugged  me." 

" Would  you  have  let  him?"  asked  Gray, 
curiously. 

"Yes,"  said  Kern.  "I  guess  so.  But  I'm 
glad  Billy  didn't  try  it." 

"He's  the  really  dangerous  one,  you  think, 
don't  you!"  asked  Mrs.  Colvin. 

"Yes,"  said  Kern.  "Mike's  a  coward. 
Billy's  the  bad  man." 

"All  bullies  are  cowards,"  put  in  the  boom 
ing  voice  of  J.  Martyn  Bramley.  That  voice 
had  been  lifted  several  times  before,  but  it 
was  a  rather  ponderous  thing,  and  needed  a 
clear  space  to  get  in  motion.  "All  bullies  and 
cruel  men  are  always  cowards.  I  cannot  be 
lieve  that  you  have  judged  this  matter  aright 
— I  notice  you  were  not  present  at  any  of 
the  tortures  you  describe  so  glibly.  But  if 
you  are  correct  in  your  surmises,  you  might 
know  that  Mr.  Kennedy  would  be  cowardly. 
It  is  proverbial." 

"And  a  proverb  is  a  cleverly  phrased  false 
hood,  five  times  out  of  six,"  retorted  Kern. 

"Where  can  you  point  to  a  bully  who  was 
not  a  coward?"  demanded  the  little  man  ag 
gressively. 

179 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Andrew  Jackson,  for  one,"  cut  in  Gray. 
"As  an  Englishman,  you  ought  to  have  a 
certain  interest  in  him.  He  was  one  of  the 
worst  bullies  that  ever  lived,  and  yet  one  of 
the  most  desperately  brave  men." 

"He  could  not  have  been  both,"  said  the 
Rev.  Bramley  with  that  q.  e.  d.  air  that  always 
put  the  bristles  up  on  Kern's  back.  The  re 
porter  passed  his  coffee  cup  for  a  second  al 
lowance,  and  regarded  the  small  man  with 
a  look  of  perplexed  curiosity.  "Mr.  Bram 
ley,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "if  by  some 
strange  chance  you  should  get  a  new  idea* 
lodged  in  your  system,  would  you  telephone 
for  the  doctor,  or  get  down  on  your  knees 
and  pray  to  be  delivered  from  unintended 
sin?  I'm  really  curious  to  know." 

"Your  question  is  offensive,  sir!"  said  the 
little  man  with  dignity.  Mrs.  Colvin  brought 
back  the  talk  to  the  matter  in  hand.  "Will 
they  try  this  man,  after  all  you've  pub 
lished?"  she  asked. 

"Surely,"  said  Kern.  "They've  got  to 
try  him;  and  they'll  make  the  effort  of  their 
lives  to  railroad  him.  It  would  have  been 
easy  to  do  if  we  hadn't  broken  in  and  now 
they  must  do  it  or  own  up  that  the  Star  can 
beat  them.  Besides,  did  I  tell  you  that  the 

180 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

mayor  gave  Mike  three  months  to  clear  up 
the  Harteley  case  just  a  little  while  back?" 

' '  No ! "  exclaimed  the  audience  in  chorus — 
all  but  Mr.  Bramley.  *  *  Three  months  to  clear 
it  up  or  get  out?" 

"Precisely.  We  got  the  tip  in  a  way  that 
made  it  certain.  We  thought  they  had  ex 
tended  the  time  in  view  of  this  gambling 
fight,  and  maybe  they  have.  But  Mike's  up 
against  it.  He's  got  to  make  a  showing." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Colvin  with  a  sigh. 
"Mike  Kennedy  would  never  give  up  the 
profits  of  that  police  job  for  a  little  thing 
like  a  human  life.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever 
get  a  clean  police  force  in  this  town?" 

"We  have  clean  police  forces  in  England, 
madam,"  said  Mr.  Bramley. 

"True,"  said  Gray.  "Your  main  graft 
over  there  is  in  the  official  debating  society 
of  the  landlord's  union — you  call  it  the  House 
of  Lords,  don't  you?  But  you  do  seem  to 
have  solved  the  police  problem;  I'll  admit 
that." 

"Why  can't  we  solve  the  police  problem, 
Mr.  Kern  ? ' '  asked  Mrs.  Colvin.  * '  Why  can 't 
we  get  a  police  force  that  will  uphold  the 
law,  instead  of  defying  it?  It  can't  be  that 
all  our  police  officers  are  Mike  Kennedys 

181 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

and  Billy  Browns.  Why  can't  we  get  the 
decent  men  at  the  top,  instead  of  these  un 
speakable  creatures!" 

Kern  shook  his  head  as  he  answered.  ' '  I  'm 
not  so  ready  with  explanations  as  I  used  to 
be.  The  great  majority  of  policemen  are 
honest  fellows;  they're  kindly  fellows  when 
they  start  in,  though  I  think  the  work  tends 
to  brutalize  most  of  them.  And  yet,  as  you 
say,  the  scoundrels  come  to  the  top.  I  sup 
pose  the  fat-headedness  of  the  dear  public 
is  at  the  bottom  of  the  evil,  but  I  don't  know.'* 

"How  is  the  public  responsible?"  asked 
Mrs.  Colvin,  after  a  pause  in  which  she 
seemed  to  be  puzzling  at  the  problem  for  her 
self.  Kern  was  deep  in  a  brown  study,  and 
did  not  hear  the  question  till  it  was  repeated. 

"By  putting  up  a  stake  like  a  street  car 
franchise,  and  then  going  to  sleep  while  men 
like  the  late  lamented  Harteley  stack  the 
cards,"  he  said.  "Well,  I've  got  to  get 
busy. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  they'll  hang  this  chap?" 
asked  Gray.  Kern  paused  a  moment  in  put 
ting  on  his  overcoat. 

"No,"  he  said  with  an  odd  air  of  finality. 
"They'll  not  hang  him." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

In  seeking  for  the  animal  ancestors  of  mankind,  why 
have  naturalists  so  persistently  overlooked  the  jackal  and 
the  coyote  ? 

WHITEMAN,  stanch  champion  of  the  under 
dog  that  he  was,  had  staid  all  night  with  the 
wretched  sneak-thief;  and  did  not  leave  in 
the  morning  until  the  prisoner  had  been 
transferred  from  the  city  jail  to  the  care  of 
the  sheriff.  There  he  was  safe  from  any 
further  torture.  The  sheriff  was  a  kind  man 
personally,  who  would  put  a  heavy  strain 
on  his  official  oath  at  any  time  to  serve  the 
politicians  who  had  placed  him  in  office  but 
who  declined  utterly  to  have  a  part  in  the 
brutalities  that  marked  the  city  police  admin 
istration.  Not  until  Kid  Brace  was  safely 
lodged  in  a  cell  in  the  county  jail  did  White- 
man  leave  for  home  to  get  a  few  winks  of 
sleep.  As  he  was  going  out,  he  met  Kern 
coming  in. 

"That  was  great  stuff  in  the  Star  this 
morning,  old  man,"  said  Whiteman  warmly. 
"Keep  that  up,  and  the  third  degree  will  get 
unpopular."  Kern  waved  the  praise  aside, 
though  his  face  showed  his  pleasure. 

183 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"We  owe  you  the  biggest  kind  of  a  vote 
of  thanks  for  helping  us  out, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Have 
you  been  here  all  night?" 

"I've  been  with  the  Kid  all  night." 
"That's  what  I  meant  to  ask.     How  is 


"Quieter,  but Whiteman  shook  his 

head  in  a  perplexed  way.  "If  I  didn't  know 
that  insanity  never  comes  suddenly,  I'd 
think  his  brain  was  turned  by  last  night's 
treatment.  He  actually  thought  he  was  going 
to  be  hanged  when  the  sheriff  came  for  him 
this  morning." 

"He  saw  a  man  hanged  in  prison,"  ex 
plained  Kern. 

"The  picture  has  staid  with  him,  then," 
replied  Whiteman.  "Well,  I'm  going  home 
for  some  sleep.  Tell  the  Kid  I'll  see  him 
again  before  night." 

Kern  went  on  into  the  jail  office,  to  be 
greeted  by  the  sheriff  with  a  boisterous  laugh. 

"Hello!  the  famous  Old  Sleuth,"  said  the 
sheriff.  "Great  business  you're  in,  playin' 
Sherlock  Holmes  an'  pullin'  dubs  like  this 
out  of  the  hole.  I  suppose  your  old  man 
thinks  this  is  another  good  place  to  bat  the 
city  hall." 

"My  old  man,  as  you  call  him,  thinks  it's 

184 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

a  good  place  to  call  a  halt  on  some  dirty 
work." 

''That's  all  right,  but  you  and  Jennings 
are  the  chaps  that  have  to  take  the  brickbats. 
Say,  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes  for  some 
thing  if  Mike  ever  gets  the  drop  on  you." 

"Mike  hasn't  the  nerve  to  get  the  drop 
on  anything,  without  the  help  his  uniform 
brings  him.  And  you'll  see  us  strip  that  uni 
form  off  before  we're  done.  Billy's  the  only 
one  I'm  really  shy  of." 

The  sheriff's  face  sobered  at  once.  "You're 
right  there,"  he  said.  He  looked  around  to 
make  sure  that  no  one  was  within  hearing, 
and  spoke  in  low  tones.  "You  mustn't  let  on 
that  I  gave  you  the  tip,  but  Billy's  laying  for 
you.  I  never  seen  him  so  savage  before. 
What  did  you  do  to  him!" 

"Gave  him  a  little  taste  of  his  own  medi 
cine,"  answered  Kern.  "What's  he  saying?" 

"Well,  he  said  enough  to  show  that  he 
means  to  get  you.  Now  don't  you  ever  squeal 
about  my  putting  you  next?" 

' '  I  won 't, ' '  Kern  promised.  " I  wish  you  'd 
let  me  see  my  sweet  young  pet." 

"I  can't  if  you're  going  to  publish  any 
thing  about  it,"  said  the  sheriff.  "I  promised 
Mike  I  wouldn't  let  anyone  see  him  but  a 
lawyer. ' ' 

185 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Just  consider  me  a  lawyer,  then.  I  don't 
want  to  publish  anything,  I  just  want  to  see 
him." 

"All  right,"  and  they  went  out,  the  sheriff 
leading  the  way. 

There  is  an  odd  parallelism  between  the 
behavior  of  animals  and  men,  especially  in 
captivity.  A  lion,  after  the  first  fever  of 
restlessness,  usually  accepts  confinement  with 
a  calmness  which  in  so  powerful  a  brute 
gives  an  effect  of  dignity;  and  has  been  so 
interpreted  by  the  artists  of  many  ages. 
The  tiger,  stronger  than  the  lion,  but  also 
more  active,  rings  the  changes  on  snarling 
reserve,  inscrutable  brooding  or  apathy,  and 
impatient  prowling  back  and  forth  in  the 
narrow  limits  assigned  him.  The  leopard  or 
panther  is  almost  never  still,  but  slides  to  and 
fro  with  a  stealthy  grace  that  holds  no  sug 
gestion  of  fear,  and  encourages  no  friendly 
advances.  The  gray  wolf  is  nearly  as  re 
served  as  the  lion ;  though  he  lacks  the  aris 
tocratic  indifference  which  is  Leo's  strong 
point,  and  possesses  an  almost  plebian  intel 
ligence  which  he  cannot  quite  conceal.  And 
the  jackal,  furtive,  slinking,  timid,  restless 
as  the  leopard  and  as  far  removed  i»om  hu 
man  ideals  of  philanthropy,  has  yet  at  times 

186 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

a  pathetic  appeal  in  his  manner  which  marks 
him  for  a  social  beast,  if  neither  a  brave  nor 
a  kindly  one. 

And  every  beast  has  in  some  sort  a  human 
counterpart.  Something  of  this  thought 
passed  through  Kern's  mind  as  he  followed 
the  sheriff  to  the  sneak-thief's  cell.  He  had 
seen  the  human  representatives  of  many  ani 
mals  in  his  time.  He  recalled  a  fallen  bank 
president,  imprisoned,  and  rightly,  for  wreck 
ing  the  institution  under  his  care;  who  even 
in  stripes  and  shaven  head  suggested  the  jun 
gle  king.  The  sheriff  indicated  a  cell  as  he 
passed  where  a  human  tiger  was  lodging, 
awaiting  trial — a  fellow  who  had  murdered 
both  his  sweetheart  and  his  rival.  And 
surely,  Kid  Brace  was  the  captive  jackal. 
Kern  looked  through  the  grated  door  at  the 
slight  figure  stretched  on  the  cot ;  and  laughed 
aloud  at  the  idea  that  this  furtive  slinker 
through  the  gloom  had  dared  to  encounter 
the  burly  and  masterful  Harteley.  Kid  Brace 
jumped  nervously  at  the  sound;  and  turned 
with  a  frightened  look  that  did  not  wholly 
disappear  when  he  recognized  his  visitor. 

"Well,  Kid,"  said  Kern,  stepping  inside 
as  the  sheriff  opened  the  door,  "How  are  you 
feeling  this  morning?" 

187 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  thief  fidgeted  on  his  cot.  The  sheriff 
spoke  in  whispers  to  Kern,  received  an  an 
swering  nod  and  smile  of  thanks,  and  went 
out.  "  Oh,  I  'm  better, ' '  said  the  Kid.  '  <  Say, ' ' 
and  the  jackal  appeal  was  strong  in  his 
shifty  face,  "you  won't  let  'em  hang  me, 
will  you?  Honest  to  God,  I  didn't  do  it! 
Please  don't  let  'em  hang  me!" 

1  'I  won't  let  them  hang  you,"  said  Kern, 
with  the  same  note  of  finality  in  his  voice 
with  which  he  had  spoken  from  the  hall  at 
the  boarding  house. 

"Promise  it,  please,"  said  Kid  Brace. 

' '  I  promise.  Now,  I  want  to  talk  with  you 
about  this.  Do  you  think  you'd  know  the 
house  where  you  got  that  pin  ? ' ' 

"  No, "  said  the  Kid.  ' '  We  didn  't  look  over 
the  swag  till  we  got  through.  Bed,  Bed 
Heinze,  that  is,  I  reckon  he  held  out  on  mine, 
but  I  wasn't  fool  enough  to  row  with  Mm.  I 
was  lookout,  you  know." 

*  *  So  you  said  last  night, ' '  said  Kern.  ' '  But 
isn't  there  anything  more  you  can  tell  me 
about  this  raid  f  Would  you  know  any  of  the 
houses?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I'd  know  the  houses.  There  was 
five  of  'em.  We  didn't  get  anything  at  one — 
leastways,  Bed  said  we  didn't;  an'  there  was 

188 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

one  where  a  cussed  fyst  set  up  a  yap,  and 
we  cleared  out. ' ' 

"Flats,  or  cottages?" 

"All  flats  but  two,  an'  one  of  them  was 
where  the  dog  yapped.  I'm  afraid  of  them 
packing  boxes,  but  Red  says  they're  the 
easiest  cribs  in  the  world  if  you  work  it  right, 
'cause  no  one  pays  any  attention  to  nothing 
when  he  lives  in  a  flat.  He'd  got  a  bunch  of 
keys  somewhere,  and  he  worked  the  delivery 
racket.  We  'd  watch  till  we  knowed  the  folks 
was  out,  an'  then  Red'd  walk  right  up  the 
front  way  with  a  parcel,  and  slip  in  with  his 
keys  while  I  watched  for  the  bulls  an'  fly 
cops." 

1 '  Do  you  remember  where  it  was  that  Red 
said  there  wasn't  any  swag?" 

"Yep.  It  was  a  joint  on  Broadway,  ten 
hundred  an'  something — what's  the  matter?" 
For  Kern  had  uttered  a  disappointed  exclam 
ation  as  he  recognized  the  description  of  the 
place  occupied  by  Mrs.  Greenway. 

' '  Nothing, ' '  said  Kern,  thinking  hard.  The 
Kid  touched  his  sleeve  timidly.  "Say,"  once 
more  came  that  plaintive  jackal  appeal,  "you 
don't  think  they  can  hang  a  guy  for  a  job  he 
didn't  turn,  do  you?" 

"They  won't  hang  you,"  said  Kern,  pa- 

189 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

tiently.  "Now,  tell  me  just  what  you  did 
after  working  the  last  house.  That  was  where 
the  dog  was,  wasn't  it?" 

"Why,  we  quit,"  said  the  Kid,  after  the 
inconsequential  manner  of  his  kind.  "Yep, 
that's  where  the  dog  was.  We  quit,  an'  got 
out." 

"Didn't  anybody  see  you  before  you  left 
town?" 

The  Kid  considered.  "There  was  Spon- 
silier.  We  went  down  to  his  place  to  get  a 
drink;  an'  then  we  went  down  in  the  yards, 
and  made  the  divvy,  and  jumped  the  freight." 

"How  did  you  see  to  divide?  Dark  lan 
tern?" 

"No,"  said  Kid  Brace  with  a  leer  of  self 
satisfied  cunning.  "I  swiped  a  candle  at 
Sponsilier's — you  know  he  has  'em  in  them 
dinky  rooms  of  hisn.  Red  wanted  to  jump 
the  train,  an'  divvy  afterwards,  said  we 
hadn't  no  light,  and  then  I  sprung  the  candle 
on  him.  I  was  afraid  he'd  lose  me  an'  keep 
the  stuff — wish  to  God  he  had!"  The  leer 
vanished,  and  the  furtive  terror  came  back. 
Kern  spoke  quickly  to  forestall  another  query 
on  the  score  of  the  hanging : 

"How  far  did  you  go  on  the  freight?" 

"Got   ditched   the   other   side   of   Spring 

190 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Valley.  We  was  makin'  for  Harlan,  but  the 
brakies  caught  us,  and  made  us  hit  the  grit." 

"And  then?" 

"We  crawled  into  a  barn  an'  slept  till 
morning.  Then  we  drilled  into  Harlan.  Got 
there  about  noon,  mebbe  one  o'clock." 

"Who  saw  you  at  Harlan?" 

"The  fellows  in  the  saloons.  But  they 
didn't  see  us  together.  We'd  separated." 

"Are  you  sure  of  your  days?" 

"You  bet  I'm  sure,"  said  the  Kid,  with 
the  first  positiveness  he  had  shown.  "I'd 
only  been  out  a  week,  you  know;  and  I  saw 
the  paper  with  the  murder  of  His  Nibs  in  it 
down  to  Harlan."  He  shivered  as  if  chilly. 
Kern  rose  to  go.  "Say,"  said  the  Kid,  "you 
won't  let  'em  hang  me,  will  you?" 

'  *  No,  I  won 't  let  'em  hang  you, ' '  said  Kern, 
soberly. 

"That's  a  promise?" 

"It's  a  promise.    Good-by." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

It's  the  unexpected  that  is  easy. 

IF  Kid  Brace  could  have  known  how  im 
portant  a  place  he  filled  in  the  public  mind 
that  morning,  even  the  ever  present  dread  of 
hanging  could  not  have  kept  him  from  en 
joying  himself.  He  had  to  the  full  the  mor 
bid  egotism  of  the  criminal,  he  loved  the  lime 
light  as  if  he  had  been  a  high  official  or  a 
popular  actress.  If  he  had  realized  that  in 
fifty  thousand  homes  that  morning,  he  was 
the  central  subject  of  discussion,  he  would 
have  strutted  a  bit  in  his  narrow  cell,  in 
spite  of  his  broken  ribs.  But  he  did  not 
know;  and  so  he  lay  disconsolate  on  his  nar 
row  cot,  muttering  to  himself  of  that  hang 
ing  he  had  seen,  and  wondering  whether  Kern 
could  keep  his  promise  of  aid. 

Kern  was  doing  some  strenuous  thinking 
on  a  similar  topic.  The  Kid  was  innocent; 
but  Kern  had  to  admit  that  the  innocent  man 
had  been  grossly  improvident  in  the  matter 
of  providing  a  workable  defence.  When  an 
ex-convict's  word  is  on  one  side,  and  that  of 
the  police  on  the  other,  nothing  but  a  well 

192 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

established  alibi  is  likely  to  be  of  much  use; 
and  this  was  precisely  what  the  Kid  did  not 
have.  Kern  went  down  to  the  Alcazar,  hop 
ing  to  get  some  confirmation  of  the  thief's 
story;  but  Sponsilier  was  non-committal.  He 
had  already  got  official  notice  of  what  was 
expected  of  him;  and  while  he  would  have 
taken  an  intense  personal  satisfaction  in  mur 
dering  Billy  Brown,  he  was  quite  willing,  as  a 
business  proposition,  to  help  Billy  murder 
someone  else.  As  soon  as  he  dared,  Kern 
routed  the  managing  editor  out  of  bed,  and 
the  two  settled  down  for  a  consultation. 
Jennings  went  to  the  heart  of  the  matter  at 
once: 

"Who  are  the  lawyers  we  want  for  the 
Kid?  I  had  the  old  man  up  about  it  last 
night,  while  you  were  down  at  the  station, 
and  the  Star  will  see  it  through.  The  first 
question  is  the  law  firm." 

"Wish  we  could  have  the  old  man  him 
self,"  said  Kern.  "That's  not  to  be  thought 
of,  I  suppose.  Does  he  give  you  a  free 
hand!" 

"Absolutely.  There  are  limits,  of  course, 
but  he  didn't  set  them.  How  about  Dawson 
and  WilkesT' 

"If  they'll  take  it,  bully,"  answered  Kern. 

13  193 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

' '  But  I  have  my  doubts  about  their  taking  it. 
They're  mighty  close  to  the  city  hall." 

"Won't  take  long  to  find  out."  The  man 
aging  editor  looked  up  a  number  in  the  tele 
phone  book,  called  it,  asked  for  Mr.  Dawson, 
and  stated  the  case.  Even  Kern  could  hear 
the  sharp  negative  that  answered  the  query. 
The  managing  editor  laughed  a  little  as  he 
hung  up  the  receiver. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  he  said. 

"They've  passed  the  word  from  the  city 
hall,"  declared  Kern.  "You'll  find  that  no 
one  they  can  get  to  will  take  it.  We'll  have 
to  get  attorneys  who  aren't  especially  in  the 
criminal  business." 

"They  can't  get  to  Harrigan,  and  he's  a 
criminal  lawyer,"  said  Jennings. 

"Very  criminal,"  agreed  Kern.  The  joke 
was  old,  but  in  this  case  true ;  and  the  other 
man  laughed  again. 

"Let's  go  down  and  see  Haines,  Messenger 
and  WTorkman,"  said  Jennings.  "They've 
got  so  many  of  our  Brotherhood  friends 
away  from  the  gallows  that  it  must  be  a 
sort  of  habit  with  them." 

Kern  made  no  answer.  The  two  men 
walked  down  to  the  office  of  the  firm  which 
had  won  a  not  wholly  enviable  reputation 

194 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

in  criminal  cases.  At  the  entrance  to  the 
building,  they  met  the  secretary  of  the 
Brotherhood.  "Hello,  Stannard,"  said 
the  managing  editor.  The  big  man  smiled 
rather  glumly  as  he  answered: 

"Out  early,  aren't  you!" 

"We're  out  in  behalf  of  injured  inno 
cence,"  said  Jennings.  "We're  trying  to 
get  a  good  lawyer  for  this  poor  sneak-thief 
that  Mike  is  trying  to  get  hanged." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  big  man. 
"Looks  to  me  like  the  police  have  a  pretty 
strong  case  on  that  chap.  You're  taking  a 
lot  of  interest  in  it,  ain't  you!  You  never 
went  that  sort  of  route  when  they  were  try 
ing  to  cinch  some  of  our  boys." 

"It  wasn't  necessary,"  said  Kern.  "This 
kid  is  innocent,  you  know,  and  therefore  he 
didn't  have  his  alibi  ready.  We  have  to  go 
a  stiff  route  in  a  case  of  this  kind." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  come  through,"  said 
the  big  man,  paying  no  attention  to  the 
rather  pointed  remark.  "The  old  plute 
needed  bumping  off,  anyway.  Good-by." 
He  nodded,  and  went  on.  Half  way  to  the 
elevator,  Kern  spoke: 

"I'll  bet  you  a  new  hat  that  these  fellows 
will  try  to  dodge  the  case." 

195 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  be  gambling, 
my  son,"  laughed  the  managing  editor. 
"Well,  we'll  soon  know." 

They  did.  The  head  of  the  noted  law  firm 
did  not  decline  the  case ;  but  he  made  it  very 
plain  that  he  did  not  want  it.  "Better  take 
some  young  man,  with  a  reputation  to  make," 
he  advised  at  the  close  of  the  interview. 

"That  might  be  a  good  plan,"  admitted 
Jennings.  Out  in  the  lobby,  the  two  men 
paused  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"That's  the  way  the  Brotherhood  pays  the 
police  for  bungling  the  Walford  case,"  de 
clared  Kern.  "Stannard  was  up  here  to  see 
Haines ;  and  you  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar 
that  Mike  had  Stannard  on  the  carpet." 

"You  couldn't  find  anyone  fool  enough  to 
bet  with  you,"  said  the  managing  editor. 
' '  Talk  about  going  a  route ! ' '  He  considered 
the  matter  a  few  moments.  "I  don't  know 
that  this  is  worth  all  the  trouble  those  fellows 
are  taking.  The  woods  are  full  of  men  that 
they  can't  touch.  Of  course,  if  we  go  outside 
a  certain  circle,  the  Herald  will  swear  that 
all  the  reputable  attorneys  declined  the  case ; 
but  no  one  believes  the  Herald,  anyway." 

"There's  a  trick  that'll  stop  the  Herald's 
jaw,  if  we  can  turn  it.  I  half  believe  we  can 
get  old  man  Landis  to  take  this  case." 

196 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  managing  editor. 

"It  isn't  so  crazy  as  it  sounds.  Convince 
the  old  boy  that  the  Kid  is  innocent,  and 
Landis  may  kick  and  scold;  but  he'll  take 
the  case.  Besides,  he  thinks  he  owes  me  some 
favors,  and  in  a  case  like  this,  I'm  not  a 
bit  above  reminding  him  of  them." 

"Do  you  mean  the  love  letters  of  a  street 
car  president?"  asked  Jennings.  Kern  had 
told  him  the  story,  of  course,  with  the  under 
standing  that  it  should  not  be  used. 

"Yes,  and  other  things.  I  helped  the  old 
boy  untangle  a  cypher  that  told  some  more 
of  Harteley's  lovely  tricks.  It  reminded  me 
of  the  Chambers  case,  in  Chicago,  only  no 
one  ever  did  translate  all  of  that  notebook. 
If  you  say  so,  I'll  brace  Landis  in  a  minute." 

"It  would  be  just  the  trick  to  turn  Mike's 
flank,"  mused  the  editor.  "Nothing  like  it 
for  its  effect  on  the  jury — and  they'll  give  us 
a  jury  that'll  need  some  saving  influence. 
And  I've  always  believed  that  Landis  is  one 
of  the  very  best  lawyers  in  the  city.  Go  to 
it." 

"I'll  tackle  him  right  away." 

But  Kern  was  not  the  first  one  to  turn  to 
the  old  lawyer  for  help.  Miss  Harteley  had 

197 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

spent  a  sleepless  night,  marvelling  over  the 
scene  she  had  witnessed  on  the  quiet  street; 
and  trying  to  figure  out  what  other  scene  at 
the  jail  had  stamped  the  fleeing  wastrel's 
face  with  that  haunting  terror.  It  was  a 
little  after  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
she  heard  the  thump  of  the  paper  on  the 
porch;  and  slipping  down  without  waking 
her  mother  or  the  servants,  she  secured  the 
Star,  and  settled  herself  before  the  grate  in 
her  room  to  read.  She  recognized  White- 
man's  face  in  the  flashlight  on  the  first  page ; 
and  this  seemed  to  give  an  added  realism  to 
the  story. 

At  the  tale  itself,  Miss  Harteley  simply 
gasped  in  horror.  Kern  was  too  good  a  re 
porter  not  to  know  that  a  big  story  needed 
no  magnifying;  and  he  had  set  forth  the 
facts  in  a  dispassionate,  impersonal,  cold 
blooded  style  that  made  them  ten-fold  more 
impressive  than  any  invective  could  have 
done.  Again  and  again  the  girl  laid  down 
the  paper,  unable  to  read  further ;  and  again 
and  again  she  was  forced  to  pick  it  up  and 
continue  the  shocking  story. 

It  was  not  only  the  account  of  personal 
suffering  that  horrified  the  daintily  nurtured 
girl.  It  was  also  the  revelation  of  an  un- 

198 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

dreamed  of  realm  of  brutality.  Like  so  many 
people  who  are  fenced  in  by  wealth  or  family 
or  occupation  from  contact  with  the  rougher 
facts  of  life,  Miss  Harteley  knew  nothing  of 
the  Under  World;  of  that  region  of  dark 
ness  and  misery  which  remains  to  tell  us 
what  was  once  the  all  but  universal  lot  of 
mankind.  Besting  easy  in  the  knowledge  of 
her  own  kindly  impulses,  she  never  fancied 
that  just  beneath  her  feet  was  a  realm  where 
kindness  is  taken  for  weakness,  where  he  is 
the  great  man  who  uses  his  strength  in  the 
most  ruthless  fashion,  where  all  the  horrors 
of  by-gone  barbarisms  are  preserved  for  the 
student  to  see  and  loathe.  The  Under  World 
is  a  living,  crawling  museum  of  ancient  his 
tory  ;  but  the  antiquarian  does  not  know  this. 
He  thinks  of  the  olden  days  as  having  passed 
altogether,  leaving  no  trace  save  on  papyrus 
and  stone.  So,  too,  the  physician  of  to-day 
looks  upon  the  thaumaturgical  prescriptions 
of  the  Middle  Ages  as  relics  of  a  darker  time, 
things  over  and  done  with.  He  never  sus 
pects  that  the  immigrant  who  cooks  his  meals, 
or  who  cleans  his  horse  has  just  buried  a 
potato  by  the  light  of  the  waning  moon  to  rid 
himself  of  warts;  or  wears  a  red  woollen 
string  around  the  neck  as  a  protection  from 

199 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

bleeding  at  the  nose.  The  surface  of  society 
changes,  and  almost  always  for  the  better. 
But  down  in  the  depths,  the  old  currents  of 
cruelty  and  superstition  still  flow ;  and  about 
the  best  one  can  say  is  that  it  is  something 
of  a  triumph  to  have  banished  those  currents 
to  the  depths. 

Miss  Harteley  finished  the  story  in  the 
Star,  and  sat  for  a  time,  thinking.  Then  she 
went  down  stairs  again,  prospected  for  the 
Herald,  found  it;  and  came  back  to  read  that. 
Usually,  she  would  have  discovered  there  an 
account  carefully  garbled  to  uphold  the  police 
side  of  the  case.  But  it  happened  this  time 
that  the  Herald's  star  perverter  of  news  was 
out  of  town  on  another  assignment,  and  the 
regular  police  reporter  had  managed  to  tell 
a  goodly  portion  of  the  truth.  It  was  not 
clearly  told ;  for  the  handsome  lad  who  wrote 
it  knew  that  in  this  case,  only  unobtrusive 
facts  would  ever  get  by  the  copy  desk.  But 
read  with  attention,  it  confirmed  Kern's 
story.  Not  that  Miss  Harteley  had  ever 
thought  of  doubting  that  story.  She  had 
learned  to  trust  Kern  more  than  she  realized ; 
and  even  without  that  confidence,  the  blank 
horror  in  the  face  of  the  fleeing  tramp  was  a 

thing  which  none  might  question. 
200 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

She  studied  the  matter  till  breakfast,  and 
then  telephoned  Mr.  Landis  at  the  club.  Re 
ceiving  word  that  he  had  gone  out,  she  called 
up  his  office,  and  got  no  answer  at  all.  A 
later  call  informed  her  that  Mr.  Landis  would 
be  in  court  all  the  forenoon.  On  getting  this 
information,  she  ordered  her  machine,  and 
went  to  see  Mrs.  Colvin.  Together  they  went 
over  the  case  again,  and  tried  to  get  Kern; 
but  by  this  time  he  was  interviewing  Spon- 
silier.  They  went  in  company  to  call  on 
Whiteman;  but  his  wife  met  them  at  the 
door  with  the  word  that  Mr.  Whiteman  had 
been  up  all  night,  and  must  not  be  disturbed. 
Altogether,  it  was  a  baffling  morning.  As 
a  last  resort,  they  went  to  Mr.  Landis'  office 
to  see  if  they  could  arrange  through  the  clerk 
for  an  escort  to  the  jail.  They  had  just 
opened  negotiations  on  this  head  when  the 
lawyer  appeared. 

''Well,  young  lady,"  he  began,  when  they 
were  seated  in  his  private  room,  "how  many 
millions  do  you  want  to  give  away  this  morn 
ing?" 

"I've  come  on  a  matter  of  justice  this 
time,  not  charity,"  answered  the  girl  with  a 
rather  wan  smile.  "And  I  need  your  help 
more  than  ever.  You've  read  the  story  in  the 

morning  papers?" 

201 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"It  spoiled  my  game  of  golf,"  said  Mr. 
Landis  with  whimsical  testiness.  "Well?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  it!" 

"I  think  that  Mr.  Kern  is  a  very  daring 
youngster,  and  that  you  are  a  very  impulsive 
one."  The  old  lawyer  watched  the  girl's  face 
narrowly  as  he  thus  compared  her  character 
to  that  of  the  reporter,  and  frowned  in  puzzle 
ment  at  the  slow  flush  that  followed  his 
words.  "It  seems  to  me  that  Mr.  Kern  has 
taken  what  he  would  call  a  rather  large 
contract." 

"He  has  taken  large  contracts  before,  I 
believe.  You  do  not  doubt  his  story,  do 
you!" 

Mr.  Landis  noted  the  tone  of  champion 
ship.  "It's  hard  to  say,"  he  answered.  "I 
believe  in  his  sincerity,  of  course;  but  I'm 
afraid  he's  been  imposed  on  this  time.  The 
story  is  a  little  too  mediaeval." 

"Does  he  impress  you  as  a  man  who  would 
be  easily  imposed  upon!" 

"Not  generally — far  from  it.  But  the 
police  don't  go  quite  that  far,  nowadays." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Colvin. 
"I  am  sure  the  police  have  gone  quite  that 
far,  in  several  cases." 

"Mr.  Landis,"  said  Miss  Harteley,  with 

202 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

her  usual  directness,  "I  want  you  to  see  this 
man  Brace.  Go  and  see  him,  and  have  a  talk 
with  him.  If  you  believe  he  is  innocent,  I 
want  you  to  undertake  his  case.  Will  you  do 
it!"  ' 

"Why  bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  law 
yer.  ' '  Why,  Jeannette,  have  you  thought  how 
that  would  look?  Your  own  personal  attor 
ney  defending  the  man  accused  of  murdering 

your  father!  My  dear  girl '  He  broke 

off  as  a  sharp  knock  sounded  at  the  door.  "I 
don't  see  why  that  stenographer  can't  tell 
folks  I'm  busy,"  he  muttered  crossly.  "Why, 
good  morning,  Mr.  Kern.  Do  you  think  it's 
safe  for  you  to  be  out  without  a  guard?" 

"Don't  know,"  said  Kern.  "Pardon  the 
interruption,  but  I  only  want  to  make  an 
appointment  with  you,  at  lunch  or  any  time, 
so  it  comes  soon.  I  wouldn't  have  disturbed 
you,  but  it's  a  mighty  serious  matter." 

"Has  it  any  connection  with  your  blood- 
and- thunder  yarn  this  morning?"  asked 
Landis.  Kern  nodded,  and  the  lawyer  swung 
the  door  wide  open.  "Come  in,  then,  and 
let's  get  it  all  over  at  once.  These  ladies  are 
here  on  the  same  general  theme,  though  I 
don't  suppose  you  want  anything  as  prepos 
terous  as  they  do.  Jeannette  has  actually  told 

203 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

me  she  wants  me  to  undertake  the  defence  of 
this  rascal  they  have  arrested." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  have  come  to  ask 
of  you, ' '  said  Kern. 

The  lawyer  made  a  gesture  which  seemed 
to  say,  all  the  younger  generation  are  going 
mad  together.  "What  on  earth  are  you  think 
ing  of !"  he  demanded.  "It  would  be  a  scan 
dal.  I  don't  so  much  blame  Jeannette  for  not 
thinking  of  that  side  of  the  case,  but  surely 
you  should  have  done  so." 

"It  would  be  a  much  bigger  scandal  if  an 
innocent  man  were  railroaded  to  the  gal 
lows,"  persisted  Kern,  doggedly.  "That's 
the  game,  and  you  can  do  more  than  any 
other  man  to  stop  it.  Listen:"  and  he 
sketched  the  events  of  the  morning.  "Now 
you  see  what  we're  up  against.  It  isn't 
merely  a  question  of  getting  a  good  lawyer. 
I'll  agree  with  you  that  that's  easy  enough. 
It's  a  question  of  getting  a  lawyer  whose 
presence  in  the  case  will  head  off  the  Herald's 
part  of  the  dirty  work,  and  get  something 
like  a  fair  show.  That  means  you.  You're 
the  only  man  we  can  even  talk  to  whom  the 
Herald  will  not  sneer  at,  and  decry.  You 
can  come  nearer  getting  a  square  venire  than 
anyone  I  know.  You're  really  the  ideal  man 
for  the  case." 

204 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"But  the  looks  of  it,"  insisted  Mr.  Landis. 

' '  It  will  look  all  right  if  you  think  the  boy 
is  innocent.  If  you  don't  think  so,  we  won't 
ask  you  to  touch  the  case." 

The  lawyer  was  silent  for  a  moment,  not 
so  much  in  hesitation,  as  in  despair  of  put 
ting  his  case  without  being  brutal  or  seeming 
cowardly.  Miss  Harteley  spoke: 

"Mr.  Landis,  I've  been  very  stupid.  I 
haven 't  told  you  how  I  feel  about  it.  I  offered 
a  reward  for  the  criminal,  against  your  ad 
vice,  because  I  was  determined  to  have  the 
man  punished.  Now  a  man  is  forced  into  con 
fessing  a  crime  which  I  don't  believe  he  com 
mitted  ;  and  I  fear  the  reward  had  something 
to  do  with  this — this  third  degree.  Don't  you 
see  that  I  must  insure  that  man's  defence? 
Wouldn't  I  be  morally  guilty  of  murder  if 
he  were  hanged  while  there  was  the  slightest 
doubt  of  his  guilt?  I'm  going  to  have  him 
defended;  and  of  course  I  want  you  to  do 
it  if  you  can.  The  scandal  is  mine,  I  should 
think,  if  there  is  one." 

Mr.  Landis  spread  his  hands  helplessly. 
"It's  a  good  thing  your  impulses  are  gen 
erally  right,  Jeannette ;  for  you  usually  man 
age  to  gratify  them.  I'll  go  see  the  young 
whelp,  and  then  if  I  think  he's  innocent,  I'll 

205 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

take  the  case.  They'll  probably  want  to  dis 
bar  me  for  doing  it,  but  you  wouldn't  mind 
a  little  thing  like  that.  Now,  having  wrapped 
the  old  lawyer  around  your  finger,  as  usual, 
you  might  let  me  have  a  talk  with  Mr.  Kern. ' ' 
Miss  Harteley  threw  her  arms  around  the 
old  lawyer's  neck  and  gave  him  a  hearty 
kiss,  then  caught  Mrs.  Colvin's  arm  and  hur 
ried  out.  A  few  minutes  later,  the  two  men 
adjourned  to  a  restaurant.  When  the  meal 
was  over,  Landis  took  a  car  for  the  jail ;  and 
Kern  went  about  his  assignment  down  town. 
When  he  got  back  to  the  office  some  hours 
later,  a  note  was  waiting  for  him.  He  read 
it,  and  passed  it  to  the  managing  editor.  It 
was  short  and  to  the  point. 

"I'll  take  the  case.    See  me  to-morrow  at 
noon. 

LANDIS.  ' ' 

"Bully,"  exclaimed  Jennings.   "We'll  put 
it  over  this  gang  yet." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

The  law  presumes  an  accused  man  innocent.  The  police 
presume  him  guilty.  Perhaps  this  is  the  starting  point  of  the 
standing  feud  between  the  average  police  force  and  the  law. 

"I'VE  never  had  very  much  criminal  prac 
tice,  ' '  said  Mr.  Landis  the  next  day  when  the 
three  men  met  at  lunch.  "But  it  seems  to 
me  that  our  young  friend  up  at  the  jail  is 
in  a  very  tight  place,  and  that  it  will  take 
some  expert  wiggling  to  get  him  out.  Are 
you  gentlemen  exjxert  wigglers?" 

' '  Aren  't  you  I ' '  countered  Jennings,  laugh 
ing.  The  managing  editor  had  risen  two 
hours  before  his  usual  time  to  be  present  at 
the  conference. 

"He's  in  a  tight  place  all  right,"  agreed 
Kern.  "But  he's  simply  got  to  be  pulled 
through,  and  personally,  I  haven't  a  doubt 
you '11  do  it." 

But  Mr.  Landis  shook  his  head.  "I'm 
obliged  for  your  confidence,"  he  said.  "But 
look  at  the  situation:  The  man  is  a  known 
sneak-thief,  just  out  of  the  penitentiary.  That 
is  a  heavy  handicap  to  begin  with.  Then  he 
is  found  with  a  pin  that  can  be  identified  as 
one  belonging  to  Harteley.  We  know  where 

207 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

he  got  it,  always  provided  Mr.  Kern's  lady 
friend  is  telling  the  truth.  But  the  scamp 
himself  doesn't  know;  he  picks  out  that  flat, 
of  all  others,  as  the  one  where  they  didn't 
get  anything." 

"Red  was  holding  out  on  him,"  explained 
Jennings. 

"How  are  you  going  to  prove  that!"  asked 
Mr.  Landis. 

"I  don't  know." 

"Neither  do  I." 

' '  If  you  put  that  blonde  lady  on  the  stand, 
don't  you  think  you  could  make  her  tell  the 
truth?"  queried  Kern. 

"Not  if  she  doesn't  want  to  tell  it,  and  of 
course,  she  wouldn't,"  asserted  Landis. 
"You  can  twist  the  truth  out  of  a  man.  You 
can  twist  the  truth  out  of  an  honest  woman, 
no  matter  how  good  the  cause  in  which  she's 
trying  to  fib.  I  remember  a  dear  old  lady 
trying  to  lie  on  the  stand  in  defence  of  her 
good-for-nothing  boy;  and  it  was  all  so 
pitiably  plain.  But  a  woman  of  the  Green- 
way  stamp  would  lie  her  way  through  the 
pearly  gates,  if  she  thought  there  was  any 
thing  that  would  interest  her  on  the  inside. ' ' 

"If  I  weren't  afraid  of  getting  sternly  re 
buked,"  said  Kern,  "I  should  wonder 

208 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

whether  it  would  stimulate  the  lady's  memory 
to  be  reminded  of  the  charge  still  hanging 
over  her  head  in  the  Sunny  South." 

"It  wouldn't  help  a  bit,"  decided  Landis. 
"Your  hold  on  her  is  over.  She  has  more 
to  fear  from  the  police  than  from  you." 

1 1  The  fact  that  the  scamp  was  raised  here, 
and  that  everybody  knows  or  will  know  his 
record  doesn't  help  any,  either,"  said  Jen 
nings. 

"No,"  Mr.  Landis  agreed.  "The  only 
good  defence  is  an  alibi,  and  the  improvident 
rascal  failed  to  provide  one.  He  left  town 
on  a  freight  train,  in  company  with  a  brother 
thief,  who  can't  be  found.  He  didn't  go  to 
any  definite  place,  and  get  himself  recog 
nized  by  any  responsible  citizen.  Instead  of 
that,  he  gets  ditched,  as  he  calls  it.  Then 
he  drills — confound  the  scamp  for  the  way 
he  murders  the  king's  English — he  drills  into 
Harlan,  and  of  course  he  gravitates  straight 
to  the  worst  quarter  of  the  town.  I've  started 
a  man  to  looking  up  his  route  down  there, 
but  to  be  frank  with  you,  the  chance  of  get 
ting  any  testimony  worth  while  is  very  slim." 

"And  all  the  time,  they've  got  his  con 
fession,  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered,"  fin 
ished  Jennings. 

14  209 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"There  are  the  houses  they  looted,"  sug 
gested  Kern. 

"When  we  find  them,"  said  Landis,  "we 
will  have  proved  that  the  boy  was  in  town 
before  the  murder,  not  that  he  got  out  before. 
His  story  on  that  is  part  of  the  police  story, 
too." 

"It's  tough,  but  I  don't  despair,"  declared 
Jennings.  "We've  got  to  put  a  stop  to  this 
third  degree  business  sometime,  and  this  is 
just  as  good  a  chance  as  any.  We  can  prove 
that  the  man  was  sound  and  whole  when  he 
was  brought  in  by  the  sheriff.  We  can  prove 
that  he  had  two  broken  ribs,  and  was  all 
beaten  up  when  Kern  and  Whiteman  got  to 
him.  When  those  things  are  brought  out, 
and  he  tells  on  the  stand  the  story  of  how 
they  man-handled  him,  I  don't  believe  there's 
a  jury  in  America  that  will  convict  him." 

"You  have  stated  the  only  defence  we've 
got,"  said  Mr.  Landis.  "I  hope  you're  right 
about  it's  being  sufficient." 

"He's  got  to  be  right,"  replied  Kern  with 
decision.  "That  kid  is  innocent,  and  I  simply 
won't  have  him  hanged.  I've  given  my  word 
on  that  point,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it— 
or  rather,  you're  going  to  keep  it  for  me. 

Mike's  game  has  simply  got  to  be  blocked." 
210 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

1  'You'd  better  give  a  little  thought  to 
blocking  Billy's  game,"  cut  in  the  manag 
ing  editor.  "He's  laying  for  you,  and  it 
isn't  with  a  stuffed  club,  either." 

"Laying    how?"    inquired    Mr.    Landis. 

Kern  grinned  as  he  answered  instead  of 
Jennings : 

"Trying,  in  his  own  expressive  phrase,  to 
get  my  block  knocked  offen  me.  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  how  he  held  me  up  one  night?" 

"Held  you  up?"  Mr.  Landis  exclaimed. 
"You  don't  mean  that  he's  actually  done  a 
thing  like  that?" 

"He  actually  has,  and  he  did  the  work  as 
if  he  were  used  to  it.  That  peroxide  person 
wrote  an  anonymous  letter  to  the  chief,  tell 
ing  him  that  I  had  a  clue  to  the  Harteley 
murder,  and  that  if  they'd  search  me,  they 
would  find  that  clue.  Billy  foregathered 
with  Fingy  Dick,  and  they  gave  me  the 
strong  arm  one  night,  and  went  through  me. 
I  don't  know  whether  they  figured  that  I  kept 
the  clue  in  a  gold  locket  or  not,  but  they 
peeled  my  whole  front,  and  before  that, 
they'd  been  through  my  room." 

"Why  haven't  you  entered  a  complaint?" 
asked  Mr.  Landis. 

"And  a  lot  of  good  it  would  do!    You're 
211 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

learning  things,  Mr.  Landis,  but  you  don't 
know  the  inner  workings  of  the  police  school 
of  perjury.  Billy  and  I  will  settle  our  little 
differences  out  of  court." 

"See  that  he  doesn't  have  the  first  word 
in  the  settlement,  then,"  cautioned  Jennings. 
"The  first  word's  likely  to  be  the  last,  in 
these  cases." 

"Well,  of  all  the  dime  novel  nonsense!" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Landis  irritably.  Kern 
laughed,  but  the  managing  editor's  voice  was 
sober  as  he  answered: 

"It  sounds  like  a  dime  novel,  but  it's  true; 
and  every  police  reporter,  dive  keeper,  hot 
tamale  man,  and  experienced  charity  worker 
knows  it's  true.  Ask  Whiteman.  Ask  Pink- 
ney.  They're  both  ordained  clergymen, 
though  Whitey  isn't  working  at  it  very  hard, 
nowadays.  Mike  told  me  once  that  it  would 
be  perfectly  easy  for  him  to  have  me  knocked 
on  the  head  some  night,  and  claimed  my  ad 
miration  because  he  didn't  do  it  when  we 
were  fighting  him.  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
in  half  the  big  cities  of  this  country,  there's  a 
regular  understanding  between  known  crim 
inals  and  the  police;  and  that  means  that 
some  of  the  police  must  be  criminals  them 
selves.  You  know  it's  true,  only  you  haven't 
212 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

stopped  to  sense  it.  You  know  the  police 
stole  the  last  two  elections  here,  and  you  know 
how  they  did  it.  I  don't  see  any  moral  dif 
ference  between  knocking  a  citizen  on  the  head 
at  the  polls,  and  knocking  a  private  enemy  on 
the  head  when  he's  going  home  at  night." 

''Hear!  Hear!"  exclaimed  Kern,  clapping 
his  hands.  "Jennings  always  tries  his  edi 
torials  on  the  dog  when  he  gets  a  chance,"  he 
explained  to  Mr.  Landis.  * '  Now  he  '11  go  back 
to  the  shop,  find  old  Grouch  (the  leading  edi 
torial  writer)  and  give  him  this  dope. 
Grouch '11  sling  the  English  into  it;  and  be 
hold,  a  stirring  leader,  copied  into  all  ex 
changes,  and  made  the  subject  of  magazine 
articles  and  legislative  investigations.  Isn't 
it  interesting  to  see  the  wheels  go  round?" 

"I'd  like  to  get  it  to  the  legislative  investi 
gation  stage, ' '  declared  the  managing  editor. 

"Well,  I'm  still  going  to  school,"  admitted 
the  lawyer.  '  *  To  come  back  to  the  point :  Our 
defence  will  have  to  rest  largely  on  discredit 
ing  or  breaking  down  the  testimony  of  Mike 
and  Billy  when  they  come  to  swear  to  this 
confession.  This  is  where  I  need  your  help." 

"Well,  there's  the  Lloyd  case,"  suggested 
Kern.  "I'll  dig  up  all  the  facts  in  that  for 
you.  Mike  beat  a  nigger  up  for  a  confession, 
and  then  the  blessed  coon  proved  an  alibi." 

213 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

' '  Exactly  what  I  want, ' '  exclaimed  Landis. 

"I'll  put  a  man  at  the  job  of  looking  up 
Mike's  record  right  down  the  line,"  offered 
the  managing  editor.  "It's  all  in  the  files; 
but  I  think  the  Lloyd  case  is  the  only  one 
where  they  got  absolute  proof  that  Mike  had 
made  the  wrong  man  confess.  The  records 
of  most  of  the  other  whalings  are  unofficial." 

"They'll  all  help,  with  this  Lloyd  case  to 
lead.  Now  what  about  Billy?"  said  Mr. 
Landis. 

"Could  you  use  the  facts  about  Billy's 
election  activities!"  asked  Kern. 

"Not  very  likely.  We  want  something 
official,  something  that  o*in't  be  rebutted  suc 
cessfully.  ' ' 

"I  don't  know  where  you'll  get  it,"  said 
Jennings.  "Everybody  knows  that  Billy  is 
an  all  round  crook,  but,  so  far  as  I  know, 
that  fact  has  never  been  determined  in  court. 
When  I  was  reporting,  I  got  hold  of  a  rumor 
that  Billy  had  been  in  prison  before  he  came 
here,  and  I  spent  a  lot  of  time,  and  the  old 
man's  money,  trying  to  run  it  down.  But  I 
never  got  any  farther." 

"Where  did  he  come  from!"  Kern's 
question  showed  alert  interest. 

"Don't  know,  and  don't  know  anyone  out- 

214 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

side  the  force  that  could  tell  you.  He's  a 
lonesome  beast."  The  managing  editor 
mused  for  a  space,  and  then  asked  suddenly : 

"You  used  to  go  by  a  nickname  before 
you  came  to  us,  didn't  you,  Kern!  What 
was  it!" 

"More  anonymous  letters,"  Kern  replied, 
smiling.  "Yes,  most  noble  sir.  There  was 
a  time  when  your  humble  servant  was  dubbed 
the  Marquis  of  Queensbury,  long  o'  a  punch 
he  was  supposed  to  carry.  As  to  when  and 
where  that  was,  or  why  he  discarded  the 
honorable  designation,  deponent  sayeth  not." 
The  smile  faded  from  his  face,  and  a  hard, 
bitter  look  of  self  condemnation  came  in  its 
turn.  The  managing  editor  leaned  across  the 
table,  and  laid  a  hand  on  Kern's  arm. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  old  man,"  he  said. 
"I  won't  do  it  again.  If  1  do,  you're  author 
ized  to  try  that  punch  on  me." 

"I  wouldn't  take  Mr.  Kern  to  be  a  very 
strong  man,"  said  Mr.  Landis.  "Wiry,  per 
haps,  but  not  powerful  in  the  sense  of — Good 
Heavens!" 

Kern  had  picked  up  the  heavy  restaurant 
"side  dish,"  and  holding  it  in  his  left  hand, 
snapped  out  a  wedge  with  the  thumb  and 
forefinger  of  his  right.  "All  in  knowing 

215 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

how,"  he  remarked.  "If  I  could  get  Billy 
or  Mike  or  both  of  them  on  the  banks  of 
some  good,  deep  lake,  with  no  unnecessary 
witnesses,  you'd  have  a  much  easier  job  of 
clearing  Kid  Brace." 

He  took  his  check — the  lunch  was  "Dutch" 
— and  went  out  with  his  overcoat  on  his  arm. 
Mr.  Landis  looked  after  him  wonderingly. 

"Who  would  have  dreamed  the  man  was 
so  strong?" 

"He's  a  queer  one,  altogether,  but  pretty 
nearly  pure  gold,  all  the  same, ' '  declared  the 
managing  editor.  "Near's  I  can  make  out, 
he  sowed  a  rather  unnecessary  acreage  to 
wild  oats  at  college;  and  I  fancy  he's  had 
trouble  with  his  family.  But  he's  been  sober 
as  a  judge  ever  since  he  came  to  us ;  and  he's 
the  best  man  we  ever  had  on  some  things. 
His  nose  for  a  mystery  is  downright  un 
canny.  ' ' 

"  So  I  have  learned, ' '  nodded  Mr.  Landis. 

Kern  boarded  a  car  and  made  straight  for 
the  abode  of  Mrs.  Greenway.  He  had  little 
doubt  but  that  Landis  was  right,  he  only 
wanted  to  know  exactly  where  the  blonde 
woman  stood  in  the  matter.  The  maid  showed 
him  in  at  once.  Mrs.  Greenway  was  sitting 
before  a  gas  grate  with  an  open  book  on  her 

216 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

knee;  and  her  red  brown  eyes  met  those  of 
the  reporter  with  an  expression  of  defiant 
triumph.  Kern  felt  that  his  questions  were 
answered  already,  but  he  bowed  with  his 
usual  ceremoniousness  when  Mrs.  Greenway 
was  concerned.  "You  will  observe,  Mrs. — 
ah,  Evans,"  he  said,  "that  in  spite  of  your 
cruelty,  I  am  quite  unable  to  remain  away 
from  you." 

"Rot!  Course  you  couldn't  stay  away. 
Why  didn't  you  come  yesterday?  I  was  look- 
in'  for  you." 

Kern  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "You  are  the 
best  judge  of  your  own  charms,  which  are 
quite  incomparable,  of  course,  but  how  do 
you  measure  them  so  exactly?  Do  you  con 
ceal  a  clock  in  your  love  philtres,  or  have 
you  a  pricking  in  your  thumbs  that  tells  you 
when  something  silly  this  way  comes  I  In  the 
latter  case,  those  adorable  thumbs  must  have 
been  quite  uncomfortable  while  your  late  la 
mented  admirer  lived. ' ' 

"Oh,  forget  it!"  said  Mrs.  Greenway,  toss 
ing  her  book  on  the  table  with  rather  ex 
cessive  energy.  "Talk  straight  United 
States!  I  knowed  you'd  come,  cause  you 
want  something  from  me — and  you  ain't  go 
ing  to  get  it,  neither!" 

217 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  am  filled  with  woe,"  professed  Kern. 
"I  am  utterly  ravished  with  desolation — now 
isn't  that  a  pretty  speech!  I  did  want  some 
thing  from  you.  I  wanted  a  winter's  lease 
on  a  cosy  little  corner  in  your  commodious 
heart ;  and  now  some  hated  rival  has  outbid 
me.  What's  the  villain's  name,  this  time?" 

The  woman  leaped  to  her  feet.  "You  in 
fernal  scoundrel!"  she  said.  "I'd  like  to 
wring  your  neck!" 

"You  have  wrung  my  heart  already,"  pro 
tested  Kern,  with  a  mournful  shake  of  the 
head.  "Let  that  suffice." 

Mrs.  Greenway  stood  looking  wrathfully 
down  at  the  reporter,  wondering  what  to  say 
or  do  next.  Kern  stretched  his  hands  to  the 
grate,  as  if  he  were  in  no  manner  of  hurry. 
"You  might  as  well  get  out,"  said  Mrs. 
Greenway  at  length.  * '  I  know  what  you  want, 
and  I  tell  you  you  ain't  going  to  get  it.  You 
might  as  well  clear  out." 

"May  I  not  at  least  bear  with  me  a  lock  of 
your  beautiful  hair?"  asked  Kern.  "Next 
to  your  amiable  disposition,  Mrs. — ah,  Evans, 
I  think  your  hair  is  your  chiefest  charm.  It 
has  not  only  an  aesthetic  interest,  but  a  chem 
ical  one  as  well.  If  you  would  favor  me  with 
just  one  little  lock 

218 


M11S.   GREEN  WAY    STOOH    LOOKING    WHAT!! 
T11K    RKPOUTKU 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Drat  the  hair!"  said  Mrs.  Greenway, 
striking  the  mantle  till  the  gas  grate  rattled 
again.  "You  didn't  come  for  no  lock  of 
hair!  You  come  here  to  see  if  I  wouldn't 
help  your  fall  guy  out  of  the  hole !  You  come 
to  see  if  I'd  tell  you  something  about  that 
stick  pin  that's  goin'  to  hang  the  cussed  fool 
you're  fussin'  over — you  best  know  why! 
Well,  I  won't  do  it.  I  ain't  seen  no  such  pin, 
an'  I'll  swear  to  that  on  a  stack  of  Bibles, 
four  foot  high!" 

* '  Four  feet  high, ' '  corrected  Kern.  * '  You 
should  avoid  those  little  slips,  dearest 
madam.  They  serve  to  recall  your  girlhood's 
happy  home  down  on  the — levee."  Mrs. 
Greenway  spluttered,  but  Kern  went  placidly 
on :  *  *  Now,  in  return  for  that  needed  pointer 
on  polite  language,  would  you  mind  telling 
me  to  what  pin  you  refer,  and  why  you  re 
quire  such  a  large  assemblage  of  Bibles  to 
testify  to  your  ignorance  of  the  same?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Mrs. 
Greenway,  sullenly.  "You  thought  you  was 
awful  cute  when  you  wormed  it  out  of  me 
about  the  burglary  that  time  you  stole  them 
letters  that  was  worth  a  fortune.  But  you 
wa'n't  cute  enough  to  bring  a  witness,  an'  if 
I  didn't  see  through  you  then,  I  do  now." 

219 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"That's  easy,"  said  Kern.  "If  love  makes 
a  heart  transparent,  I  suppose  it  would  serve 
the  other  tissues  much  the  same.  But  aren't 
you  going  to  give  me  that  lock  of  hair?" 

"Why  don't  you  shave?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Greenway. 

"Madam,"  said  Kern,  "from  you  I  can 
conceal  nothing.  I  do  not  shave,  because  I 
fear  that  without  this  beard,  I  would  look  too 
youthful  to  be  your  companion — and — Why, 
Mrs.  Greenway!  I'm  shocked!" 

"Be  shocked,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Greenway. 
"But  go  and  be  shocked  somewheres  else. 
I'm  sick  of  you." 


CHAPTER    XX 

Oblige  me  by  referring  to  the  files. 
— KIPLING. 

THE  more  the  situation  was  studied,  the 
greater  seemed  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
clearing  Kid  Brace.  Good  character  and  an 
alibi  are  the  most  reliable  pillars  of  defence. 
The  Kid  had  neither.  Character,  of  course, 
is  a  thing  no  ex-convict  is  supposed  to  own; 
and  as  for  the  alibi,  Red  Heinze  had  disap 
peared,  nor  would  he  have  been  of  any  use 
if  found.  The  police  would  have  had  the  first 
interview  with  him.  The  brakeman  who 
chased  the  tramps  from  the  train  was  found ; 
but  though  the  Kid  identified  him  on  the 
instant,  he  could  not  identify  the  Kid. 
Tramps  were  common  just  then,  he  explained, 
and  he  really  couldn't  bother  his  mind  with 
them.  He  might  have  made  this  one  hit  the 
grit,  or  he  might  not.  He  didn't  know — and 
it  was  plain  that  he  didn't  greatly  care. 

And  against  this  unprotected,  improvident, 
characterless  thief  was  arrayed  the  vast  and 
complex  machinery  of  a  modern  city  adminis 
tration.  Against  him  was  a  power  which 
221 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

could  and  did  make  and  unmake  judges  and 
district  attorneys;  which  could  pull  strings 
on  the  sheriff  in  the  choice  of  veniremen; 
which  was  able  to  browbeat  professional  jury 
men,  and  to  hold  an  unannounced  but  plainly 
visible  thread  over  the  head  of  many  a  wit 
ness.  The  "city  hall"  had  the  Kid's  con 
fession.  It  had  two  men  who  would  swear 
with  the  injured  righteousness  peculiar  to 
police  perjury  that  this  confession  was  a 
purely  voluntary  document;  and  that  the 
prisoner's  injuries  were  caused  by  falling 
down  stairs,  or  by  epileptic  fits,  or  by  any 
thing  else  that  seemed  good  to  the  ones  who 
had  that  trifling  detail  in  charge.  Nor  was 
this  perjury  quite  so  base  as  the  uninitiated 
reader  might  think.  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
the  ' '  city  hall, ' '  from  Mike  to  the  Mayor  and 
back  again,  believed  in  Kid  Brace's  guilt  as 
firmly  as  Mr.  Landis  believed  in  his  inno 
cence.  Holding  this  view,  the  city  hall  be 
lieved  that  the  ends  of  justice — not  to  men 
tion  those  of  political  expediency — would  be 
best  served  by  a  slight  stretching  of  the  facts. 
It  was  absolutely  vital  to  discredit  the  testi 
mony  of  the  two  police  officials  who  would 
swear  to  the  circumstances  attending  the  con 
fession.  Do  this,  and  the  Kid's  story  of  the 
222 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

third  degree  might  very  well  acquit  him,  and 
would  be  almost  sure  to  keep  him  from  con 
viction.  But  to  discredit  those  officials  was 
not  so  easy.  The  tabulated  list  of  Mike's 
adventures  in  impromptu  inquisition  was 
placed  in  Landis'  hands  at  once;  and  after 
going  over  the  list,  and  especially  over  the 
Lloyd  case,  Mr.  Landis  expressed  his  con 
fidence  in  being  able  to  make  Mike  wish  he 
hadn't  come.  But  Billy,  oddly  enough, 
seemed  invulnerable.  Every  newspaper  office 
was  full  of  tales  of  his  wanton  brutality ;  but 
the  means  to  connect  his  misdeeds  with  the 
case  in  hand,  and  to  establish  them  by  com 
petent  testimony,  was  lacking.  His  assault 
on  Pinkney  could  be  proved  by  credible  wit 
nesses — if  it  could  be  got  into  the  record 
at  all.  But  aside  from  that  slip,  good  luck 
or  circumspection  had  kept  Billy  from  strik 
ing  anyone  who  could  strike  back.  Did  he 
wantonly  beat  SponsilieH  The  jury  would 
take  a  look  at  Sponsilier,  and  vote  Billy  a 
medal  for  the  job.  Did  he  habitually  tyran 
nize  over  the  denizens  of  the  Under  World? 
He  would  still  be  their  tyrant  when  the  trial 
was  over.  They  dared  not  testify  against 
him ;  and  if  they  had  dared,  their  word  was 
tainted. 

223 


"Maybe  the  Kid  has  a  better  chance  of 
hanging  than  I  thought,"  said  the  managing 
editor  one  night. 

"He  is  not  going  to  hang,"  again  asserted 
Kern.  "But  I  can  see  it's  up  to  me  to  make 
an  intimate  study  of  the  life  of  one  Billy 
Brown. ' ' 

"Hope  you  have  better  luck  than  I  did," 
replied  Jennings.  ' '  If  only  we  could  lay  our 
hands  on  the  real  criminal!" 

"I'll  undertake  to  do  even  that  before  I'll 
let  them  hang  this  kid,"  said  Kern.  "But 
I'd  a  great  deal  rather  get  Billy's  goat.  If 
I'd  only  had  the  luck  to  report  his  trial  in 
the  ancient  days,  as  I  did  that  of  the  lady  of 
adventure 

He  stopped  abruptly.  "What's  the  mat 
ter?"  asked  the  managing  editor. 

"Nothing,  except  that  I've  been  walking 
by  the  most  likely  source  of  information  with 
out  stopping  to  call." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  in  all  probability  we've  got 
Billy's  record  in  our  own  famous  file  room. 
The  name  will  be  different,  of  course,  but 
I'll  bet  it's  there." 

"Do  you  think  it's  worth  while  trying  to 
dig  it  out  if  it  is  there?"  asked  his  chief. 
"It'll  be  an  awful  job." 

224 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  think  it's  worth  while,  yes.  And  it  may 
not  be  such  a  job.  What  section  of  the  coun 
try  would  you  say  had  the  honor  of  breeding 
this  particular  guardian  of  the  peace?" 

"Some  good  sized  city  of  the  middle 
North,"  opined  Jennings  after  a  pause. 

"Exactly.  And  it  isn't  the  biggest  city, 
for  Billy  doesn't  speak  Manhattanese.  It 
isn't  St.  Louis,  for  you  made  pretty  sure  that 
he  came  to  that  town  from  somewhere  else. 
That  doesn't  leave  so  wide  a  field  of  search. 
Can  you  think  of  anything  to  narrow  it  still 
more?" 

There  followed  some  minutes  of  silence 
while  both  men  raked  their  well-stocked  mem 
ories.  Finally  Jennings  shook  his  head.  "I 
can't  think  of  anything  more,"  he  said. 

"I  believe  I  can.  Do  you  know  whether 
Billy  is  likely  to  take  sides  with  the  strikers 
or  the  employers  in  a  labor  war!  I  know 
how  he  was  in  our  recent  ruction,  of  course, 
but  that  was  orders.  What  would  his  sym 
pathies  naturally  be?" 

"Don't  think  he  has  any,"  answered  the 
other  man. 

"Then  he  comes  from  some  town  on  the 
Lakes,"  decided  Kern.  "When  that  long- 

shoremens'  strike  was  on,  Billy  used  to  pro- 
is  225 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

nounce  regular  orations  on  what  ought  to 
be  done  with  the  employers.  I  was  on  police 
then,  you  know.  Billy  Brown  has  been  a 
Lake  wharf  rat,  and  I'll  bet  my  head  on  it." 

" Don't  bet  anything  you  can't  afford  to 
lose,"  laughed  the  managing  editor.  "I  think 
it's  an  accident  if  you  find  what  you  want, 
even  now.  But  if  you  think  it's  worth  while, 
take  the  cub  and  go  ahead." 

The  next  evening  when  Kern  came  back 
from  dinner,  the  cub  laid  before  him  a  bound 
volume  of  a  Buffalo  paper,  opened  it  at  a 
given  page,  and  pointed  to  a  drawing.  Kern 
looked,  whistled,  read  the  letter  press,  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Shake,  cubby!  This  means  more  to  me 
than  you  could  guess.  Let's  go  show  it  to 
the  boss." 

"Do  you  want  to  go  back  for  it?"  asked 
the  managing  editor,  after  inspecting  the  pic 
ture  and  reading  the  story  which  it  illus 
trated. 

"If  I  may  make  a  suggestion,  I  think  the 
cub's  earned  that  trip,"  replied  Kern.  "He 
can  get  all  there  is,  especially  if  you  give 
him  some  letters.  Besides,  I  think  the  closer 
I  stay  at  home,  the  less  likely  they  are  to 
know  that  we've  got  'em." 

226 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Fine,"  said  Jennings.  "Do  you  know,  I 
think  we  can  really  sit  down  and  enjoy  our 
selves  now,  till  the  trial  comes." 

*  *  '  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow 
we  die,'  "  quoted  Kern.  "I  think  I'll  follow 
that  advice  for  a  while. ' ' 

If  such  were  really  his  intent,  his  views  of 
merriment  were  a  bit  peculiar.  Two  or  three 
times  a  week,  he  called  at  the  jail.  Sometimes 
Kid  Brace  would  receive  him  with  frightened 
pleas  to  be  saved  from  hanging;  more  often 
with  the  complacent  egotism  which  a  certain 
type  of  criminal  and  a  certain  type  of  so- 
called  aristocrat  have  as  a  common  heritage 
from  barbarism.  Two  or  three  times  a  week, 
likewise,  Kern  found  himself  in  consultation 
with  Miss  Harteley  in  person,  or  with  some 
of  her  representatives.  He  never  sought 
these  interviews.  He  seemed  rather  to  avoid 
them,  and  to  simulate  indifference  when  he 
attended  them.  But  he  never  refused  attend 
ance,  and  he  never  failed  to  give  his  best 
efforts  to  the  subject  in  hand  before  he  came 
away. 

Miss  Harteley  had  not  repeated  her  request 
for  Kern  to  act  as  idea  man  in  her  philan 
thropic  enterprises.  But  she  used  him  stead 
ily  in  that  capacity.  He  had,  as  she  said,  an 

227 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

intimate,  detailed  knowledge  of  the  city's 
life  and  needs  which  no  other  person  of  her 
acquaintance  could  rival.  He  was  plainly 
disinterested;  and  his  keen  intellect  was 
wholly  unclogged  by  the  usual  philanthropic 
conventions.  Also,  he  had  performed  an  un 
forgettable  service  for  Miss  Harteley  and  her 
mother.  For  these  very  good  reasons,  the 
girl  persisted  in  disregarding  Kern's  half 
shy  aloofness ;  and  without  the  least  loss  of 
dignity,  managed  to  keep  him  as  an  unofficial 
but  ever  ready  counsellor.  Sometimes  the 
counsel  was  given  with  a  bluntness  barely 
escaping  rudeness ;  but  it  was  usually  to  the 
point.  Thus : 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Kern?"  she 
asked  when  a  rather  elaborate  plan  for  a 
free  lodging  house  had  been  presented. 

"I  think  every  tramp  will  bless  you,"  was 
the  answer.  "Especially  if  you'll  cut  out 
those  wholly  unnecessary  baths." 

"The  baths  are  not  unnecessary,"  pro 
tested  the  Rev.  Bramley,  who  had  first  inter 
ested  the  heiress  in  the  project.  "They  are  a 
very  essential  part  of  right  living."  Kern 
chuckled  at  the  remark,  but  Miss  Harteley 
ignored  it. 

"Do  you  think  it  would  draw  tramps?" 
she  asked. 

228 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"It  would  be  a  regular  hobo  magnet." 

"But  what  about  the  decent  workingman 
out  of  a  job?" 

"He  wouldn't  go  there.  The  decent  work 
ingman  out  of  a  job  wants  a  job.  He  doesn't 
want  charity." 

"Then  you  would  recommend?" 

"I  would  recommend  that  you  take  meas 
ures  to  provide  the  out-of-works  with  useful 
jobs  at  good  wages;  and  let  them  pay  for 
their  lodgings,"  said  Kern. 

"What  would  I  put  them  to  doing!" 

Kern  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It  de 
pends  on  how  far  you  want  to  go  into  this 
thing,"  he  answered. 

"Just  as  far  as  is  necessary,"  said  Miss 
Harteley  sharply.  Kern  smiled  in  amuse 
ment  at  the  tone. 

* '  Well, ' '  he  replied, ' '  suppose  you  put  some 
of  these  workingmen  out  of  a  job  to  building 
homes  for  workingmen  who  have  jobs.  You 
own  a  lot  of  that  vacant  land  out  near  the 
steelworks.  You  know  how  the  company  robs 
those  steelworkers  in  rents.  Why  not  put  up 
some  cottages  out  there  to  be  rented  or  sold 
for  reasonable  sums?" 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  the  girl  after  a  moment's 
thought.  J.  Martyn  Bramley  made  himself 

229 


heard  at  last.  "What  about  the  poor  unfor 
tunates  for  whom  I  have  been  pleading?" 
he  asked  in  a  tone  of  such  solemnity  that 
Mrs.  Colvin  and  Kern  laughed  outright. 
Miss  Harteley  did  not  laugh,  but  she  bit  her 
lip  to  avoid  doing  so  as  she  passed  on  the 
question  to  Kern. 

' '  How  much  did  you  intend  to  throw  away 
on  the  lodging  house!"  he  asked.  "Never 
mind,  I  don't  want  to  know.  Whatever  it 
was,  just  give  ten  per  cent,  of  the  sum  to  the 
Salvation  Army.  They'll  do  twice  the  work 
and  half  the  harm  with  it  that  you'd  do  with 
the  whole  sum.  They're  used  to  it." 

"You're  an  iconoclast,  aren't  you?"  asked 
Mrs.  Colvin  a  bit  later  when  Bramley  was 
gone.  Kern's  face  twisted  into  a  rather  wry 
smile. 

"I'm  beginning  to  doubt  whether  many 
images  are  worth  breaking,"  he  replied. 

He  walked  down  town — the  council  had 
been  held  at  Mrs.  Colvin's  house — and 
plunged  into  his  work. 

That  night  the  city  editor  sought  wisdom 
from  Jennings. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Kern?"  he 
queried.  "He's  Grosser  than  a  bear  with  a 
sore  head,  and  he's  done  about  four  men's 

230 


work  every  day  for  a  week.  He  even  snapped 
at  the  cub  to-day." 

"Leave  him  to  me  as  much  as  you  can," 
advised  Jennings.  "And  don't  mind  his 
temper  too  much.  A  little  cussing  is  good 
for  a  cub,  anyway. ' ' 

"I  wonder  if  Mr.  Kern  is  in  trouble?" 
said  Miss  Harteley  to  Mrs.  Colvin  at  the  close 
of  a  charitable  conference  some  time  later. 
The  elder  woman  smiled  gravely. 

"I  think  perhaps  Mr.  Kern  is  afraid  he'll 
get  into  trouble, ' '  she  answered.  Miss  Harte 
ley  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Why?"  she  asked.  "I'm  sure  Mr.  Kern 
isn't  afraid  of  things.  I  think  he's  one  of 
the  bravest  men  I  ever  met." 

"There  are  some  troubles  in  which  cour 
age  doesn't  help  one,"  suggested  Mrs.  Colvin 
gravely.  This  time  the  girl  understood.  She 
flushed  scarlet,  and  changed  the  subject. 

"Boss  wants  to  see  you,"  said  the  city 
editor  a  few  nights  later  as  Kern  came  in. 
"They've  set  that  kid's  trial  for  the  first 
of  the  week." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

Any  yeggman  can  tell  you  that  the  jury  system  is  the 
bulwark  of  his  liberties. 

THE  courtroom  was  packed  to  the  doors, 
but  the  doors  were  closed.  The  windows  were 
closed,  too ;  for  it  was  a  cold  day  outside,  and 
a  breath  of  the  winter  might  have  swayed 
the  delicate  scales  of  justice  poised  within. 
As  a  consequence  of  these  precautions,  the 
air  in  the  courtroom  was  about  as  ancient  as 
the  law,  and  gave  quite  as  many  evidences  of 
hard  usage.  The  judge  sat  in  a  highly  aloof 
attitude,  trying  to  look  a  hole  through  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  ceiling.  The  bailiff 
ground  industriously  on  a  hopper  full  of 
plug,  and  from  time  to  time  dropped  the  dis 
tilled  product  into  one  of  the  receptacles  that 
had  cost  the  county  eight  dollars  and  thirty- 
four  cents  apiece.  At  the  table  allotted  to  the 
press,  the  artists  were  making  sketches ;  while 
the  reporters  were  playing  with  their  pencils, 
and,  in  the  well  worn  joke  of  the  craft,  giving 
"one  of  those  celebrated  imitations  of  men 
working  for  a  living." 

Mr.  Landis  was  standing,  an  expression 
of  grave,  polite  concern  on  his  face.  In  his 

232 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

hand  he  held  a  typewritten  list  of  questions 
to  be  asked  of  jurymen,  and  as  he  asked  each 
question,  he  put  a  checkmark  against  it.  A 
methodical  man  was  Landis.  He  had  asked 
half  a  dozen  of  the  routine  questions  of  the 
juryman  in  hand  without  getting  a  lead  to 
follow.  Then : 

"Do  you  know  the  prisoner?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  man.  He  was  a  short, 
stocky,  round-headed  Bavarian,  whiskered 
to  the  very  eyes ;  he  was  a  cabinet  maker 
by  trade,  and  he  lived  in  a  part  of  town  all 
too  familiar  with  the  "South  Side  gang." 

"What  do  you  know  about  him?"  asked 
Mr.  Landis  with  persuasive  politeness. 

"I  know  he  vos  a  bad  egg!"  said  the  cab 
inet  maker  with  emphasis.  The  crowd 
laughed,  the  bailiff  rapped,  the  judge  glared ; 
and  in  a  moment  the  Bavarian  was  down 
from  the  box.  Mr.  Landis  began  the  same 
patient  routine  on  the  next  man. 

"Mr.  Wilkes,  where  were  you  born?" 

"In  Philadelphia." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Thirty-seven." 

"How  long  did  you  live  in  Philadelphia?" 

"Folks  moved  away  when  I  was  ten." 

"Where  did  they  move  to?" 

233 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

" New  York." 

Generally,  Mr.  Landis  was  careful  to  bring 
out  full  details  of  the  various  places  in  which 
each  juror  had  sojourned.  This  time,  he  took 
another  careful  look  at  the  pasty  white  face, 
the  oiled  hair,  the  large  diamond  ring,  the 
white,  soft,  dexterous — yet  useless — looking 
hands,  and  changed  his  questions  a  little. 

"Have  you  travelled  much?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Been  over  most  of  the  country?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  long  have  you  lived  in  this  city?" 

"Two  years." 

1 '  Where  do  you  live  ? ' ' 

The  man  gave  street  and  number. 

"What  do  you  do  for  a  living?" 

"I  tend  bar  sometimes." 

"Where?" 

"At  the  Arcade." 

"Do  you  deal  at  the  faro  game  upstairs 
sometimes  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  long  have  you  been  dealing  there?" 

"Nearly  a  year." 

"Have  you  had  any  trouble  with  the  police 
since  you  came  to  this  city?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

234 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"On  good  terms  with  them,  are  you?" 

"Sure  thing." 

"There's  nothing  secret  about  the  Arcade, 
is  there?" 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  the  gambler, 
a  bit  uneasy. 

"I  mean,  there  isn't  any  barred  door  busi 
ness  about  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  we're  wide  open.  Anybody  can 
see  all  we  do  that  wants  to. ' ' 

"Don't  you  know  that  public  gambling  is 
forbidden  by  the  laws  of  this  state  and  the 
ordinances  of  this  city?" 

"I  object!"  said  the  assistant  district  at 
torney.  Mr.  Landis  turned  courteously  to 
the  judge. 

"If  it  please  the  court,  I  challenge  this 
juror  for  cause.  The  defence  in  this  case 
rests  largely  on  rebutting  the  testimony 
gathered  by  certain  police  officials.  This  man 
is  engaged  in  a  business  whose  existence  de 
pends  on  police  favor;  he  could  not  give  a 
verdict  favorable  to  my  client  without  serious 
risk  of  business  injury." 

The  assistant  district  attorney  argued  the 
matter.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  in  which 
Mr.  Landis  had  spoken  for  perhaps  two  min 
utes,  the  man  was  excused  for  cause.  Mr. 

235 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Landis  proceeded  with  the  same  methodical 
patience  to  the  next. 

"Say,  the  old  boy's  strictly  onto  his  job," 
whispered  McClelland  of  the  Herald.  l '  I  was 
afraid  His  Nibs  would  give  him  a  raw  deal, 
but  the  old  boy's  conning  him  just  right. 
Judge  Lewis  hates  gab  above  all  things." 

"Deal's  raw  enough  now,"  whispered 
Kern  nodding.  "Look  at  those  cattle!"  he 
indicated  the  veniremen  with  a  barely  per 
ceptible  gesture.  McClelland  nodded  back, 
and  both  gave  their  attention  to  the  case  once 
more. 

The  first  day  ended  with  three  jurymen 
passed  and  a  special  venire  ordered.  The 
second  day,  not  a  single  juror  was  accepted. 
The  judge  was  notoriously  the  most  impa 
tient  and  petulant  man  on  the  bench,  though 
acknowledged  to  be  both  honest  and  able; 
and  he  was  the  outspoken  champion  of  an 
almost  Draconian  criminal  code.  Yet  in  those 
days,  Mr.  Landis  used  only  one  of  his  per 
emptory  challenges.  Kern  shook  his  hand 
that  night  in  undisguised  admiration. 

"And  you've  been  telling  us  all  this  time 
that  you  weren  't  a  criminal  lawyer, ' '  he  said. 
Landis  waved  the  praise  aside  with  a  depre 
catory  gesture. 

236 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"The  tug  comes  to-morrow,"  he  prophe 
sied.  "We'll  be  playing  all  our  cards  thesi." 

It  was  a  true  prophecy,  but  its  fulfilment 
only  showed  the  number  of  cards  which 
Landis  could  play.  You  never  really  know  a 
man  till  you  see  him  at  a  difficult  task  in 
his  own  line  of  work.  Kern  thought  Landis 
a  lovable,  rather  able,  absolutely  conscien 
tious  man;  but  a  man  not  at  all  remarkable 
for  diplomacy  or  patience.  Yet  Landis  met 
the  judge's  petulance  with  a  quiet  courtesy 
neither  to  be  ruffled  nor  denied.  He  sifted 
out  the  "cattle"  whom  the  sheriff,  in  obe 
dience  to  orders  from  the  local  machine,  had 
brought  in  for  jurymen.  The  blustering  as 
sistant  district  attorney,  Landis  hardly 
noticed  at  all.  His  original  list  of  questions 
was  filled  with  checkmarks;  he  took  a  copy; 
and  before  the  end  of  the  third  day  still 
another  copy  was  in  use.  He  found  two 
veniremen  taken  from  the  tramway's  pay 
roll.  He  found  one  who  had  been  precinct 
organizer  for  the  tramway  in  the  franchise 
fight.  He  found  two  who  had  been  complain 
ing  witnesses  against  Kid  Brace  in  the  police 
court  some  years  before.  He  found  three 
men  who  owned  tramway  stock,  stock  that  had 
dropped  nearly  twenty  per  cent,  since  Harte- 

237 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

ley's  death.  One  of  these  three  was  not  to 
be  denied  service  on  the  jury,  he  protested  his 
absolute  impartiality,  and  ability  to  give  the 
Kid  a  fair  trial;  and  the  weary  judge  took 
the  protestations  at  their  face  value.  Landis 
had  to  expend  one  of  his  precious  peremp 
tory  challenges  to  get  rid  of  the  fellow. 

Mike  Kennedy  had  looked  in  two  or  three 
times,  but  had  not  favored  the  courtroom 
with  his  continuous  presence.  Billy  Brown 
had  spent  a  full  half  day  there,  and  then 
staid  away  altogether.  Mrs.  Greenway  was 
present  every  day,  though  not  every  session. 
Sometimes  she  came  in  the  morning,  some 
times  in  the  afternoon. 

" Who's  that  stunning  light  haired  female 
that  wears  so  much  glass!"  asked  a  woman 
special  writer  on  the  Evening  Messenger. 
"Glass"  meant  jewels;  and  perhaps  was  not 
far  awry.  Kern  followed  the  pointing  finger, 
and  answered  gravely: 

"That's  Mrs.  Vandergrift,  from  New  York, 
prominent  in  the  suffrage  movement,  and  out 
here  to  look  over  conditions.  She's  written  one 
or  two  novels,  and  they  say  she's  about  ready 
to  perpetrate  another.  I  reckon  she's  watch 
ing  this  thing  for  copy." 

That  night,  the  Messenger  had  a  picture 

238 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

of  Mrs.  Vandergrift  on  the  first  page,  with  a 
notice  of  her  activities  in  the  suffrage  move 
ment,  and  a  prediction  as  to  the  forthcoming 
novel. 

"All  these  delays  are  unutterably  disgust 
ing,"  said  J.  Martyn  Bramley  at  dinner  the 
evening  of  the  third  day.  "The  man  is  un 
doubtedly  guilty.  In  England,  he  would  now 
be  in  the  condemned  cell,  preparing  to  meet 
his  Maker.  The  failure  of  justice  is  one  of 
the  inevitable  results  of  trying  to  do  without 
the  institution  of  monarchy." 

"Well,"  retorted  Gray,  "a  country  with 
an  established  church  and  a  house  of  lords 
has  to  have  some  redeeming  qualities.  It 
wouldn't  do  to  have  it  all  bad." 

"You  are  offensive,  sir!"  said  the  little 
man  with  a  belligerent  glare. 

"Dee-lighted,"  said  Gray,  whose  temper 
was  a  bit  saw-edged  that  evening. 

"But  don't  you  think  English  justice  is 
far  superior  to  ours?"  asked  Mrs.  Colvin. 

"It's  far  more  rigid,"  admitted  Gray. 
Bramley  spoke  again: 

"Justice  must  be  rigid  in  order  to  be  jus 
tice.  Afterwards,  it  may  be  tempered  with 
mercy  if  a  gracious  sovereign  so  pleases.  The 
criminal  classes  must  be  held  in  with  a  strong 

239 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

hand,  and  the  lower  classes  must  be  taught 
their  place  to  restrain  their  tendency  to  crim 
inality.  ' ' 

The  other  guests  looked  helplessly  at  the 
self  satisfied  little  Tory.  Kern  spoke  for  the 
first  time : 

"English  justice  can  afford  to  be  rigid. 
The  society  is  rigid,  too;  stratified,  almost. 
Here,  we  have  to  be  more  careful.  If  you 
kick  a  footman  in  England  to-day,  the  worst 
that  can  happen  to  you  is  to  find  him  a  butler 
to-morrow.  Here,  if  you  kick  a  footman,  the 
next  time  you  run  onto  him  he  may  be  a 
judge,  or  a  senator,  or  even  a  clergyman.  You 
never  can  tell." 

The  guests  chuckled,  and  the  Rev.  Bramley 
flushed.  He  had  been  a  footman  in  the  old 
country,  and  only  his  one  stroke  of  enter 
prise  in  coming  to  America  had  enabled  him 
to  mount  the  exalted  ladder  from  which  he 
viewed  the  unmonarchical  world.  Gray  and 
Mrs.  Colvin  started  a  discussion  of  the  jury 
system  which  lasted  till  the  close  of  the  meal. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day  be 
fore  the  jury  was  completed. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

The  national  vice  of  America  used  to  be  oratory.  Now,  it 
is  "organization."  Whether  the  next  debauch  will  be 
government "  philanthropy  " — with  other  people's  money — 
or  "regulation" — of  other  people's  business — is  still  uncer 
tain;  though  the  odds  seem  to  favor  philanthropy. 

OBATOKY  in  the  olden  sense  is  well  nigh  a 
lost  art  among  us,  and  no  one  need  weep  for 
its  passing.  In  the  heyday  of  its  develop 
ment,  it  was  exactly  what  the  shrewd  western 
settler  called  it — "spellbinding";  an  incan 
tation  performed  with  "woven  paces  and  with 
waving  hands,"  whose  effect — if  any — was  to 
put  sound  in  the  place  of  sense.  Nowadays, 
we  are  far  too  busy  to  spare  time  for  the 
long-winded  exordium ;  the  thrilling,  waving, 
shouting,  gesticulating  body  of  the  speech; 
and  the  sometimes  artistic  but  always  artifi 
cial  peroration.  The  actual  opening  of  the 
trial  of  Kid  Brace  was  marked  by  no  verbal 
pyrotechnics.  The  district  attorney,  appear 
ing  in  person  for  the  first  time,  made  a  clear- 
cut,  quiet,  and  terribly  effective  presentation 
of  his  case  in  ten  minutes.  Mr.  Landis  fol 
lowed  with  a  yet  shorter  summary  of  what 
he  expected  to  show;  and  the  scales  of  jus- 

16  241 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

tice  were  presumably  balanced  for  the  weigh 
ing. 

First,  of  course,  came  the  proof  of  the 
corpus  delicti,  the  body  of  the  crime.  Mr. 
Harteley  had  been  found  dead  in  his  office  on 
a  given  date,  in  circumstances  which  could 
only  mean  murder.  The  dagger  with  which 
the  crime  had  been  committed  was  shown, 
carefully  uncleaned;  and  the  crowd  got  its 
first  delicious  shudder.  The  chief  of  police 
told  his  story  almost  without  questions,  and 
was  not  cross-examined — then.  The  surgeon 
who  examined  the  body  was  questioned  more 
closely. 

"In  your  judgment,  would  a  man  cry  out 
when  given  a  mortal  thrust?"  asked  the  dis 
trict  attorney. 

"He  would  be  sure  to  do  so,  if  able." 

"What  could  stop  him!" 

"Well,  if  someone  were  holding  him  by 
the  throat,  he  could  not  cry  out." 

On  cross-examination,  Mr.  Landis  asked: 

' '  You  say  that  a  man  cries  out  when  mor 
tally  wounded?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  you  been  present  when  many  mor 
tal  wounds  were  given?" 

"N— no." 

242 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

' '  Have  you  ever  seen  a  man  killed  by  a  stab 
wound?" 

"No." 

' 'Then  where  do  you  get  your  informa 
tion?" 

The  surgeon  made  an  embarrassed  state 
ment  about  the  pain  of  such  a  thrust  being 
sure  to  cause  an  outcry. 

''Does  a  man  cry  out,  according  to  your 
experience,  when  hit  over  the  head  with  a 
club?" 

"No,  not  if  he's  hit  hard  enough." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  he  is  stunned  by  the  shock." 

"Does  not  a  blow  over  the  heart  produce 
severe  shock?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Don't  you  know  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  would  not  a  thrust  like  the  one  you 
describe,  in  which  the  dagger  was  driven 
clear  through  the  heart,  cause  enough  shock 
to  stop  any  outcry?" 

"It  might." 

It  was  a  very  minor  point,  but  the  listeners 
at  the  press  table  felt  that  Landis  had  scored. 
It  was  not  necessary  to  believe  that  Harteley 
was  held  by  the  throat  to  account  for  the 
fact  that  no  one  heard  him  cry  out. 

243 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  janitor  repeated  his  testimony  of  the 
inquest.  He  had  left  the  doors  and  windows 
of  the  Harteley  suite  shut  and  fastened  the 
night  before.  He  had  found  the  outer  door 
shut  when  called  by  the  police,  but  the  win 
dow  in  the  inner  room  was  open.  Could  the 
windows  have  been  opened  from  the  out 
side?  Yes,  these  thieves  were  so  full  of  tricks 
they  could  do  anything.  Mr.  Landis  was 
brief. 

"What  kind  of  day  was  the  Sunday  that 
Mr.  Harteley  was  killed?" 

' '  It  was  a  pleasant  day. ' ' 

"Did  not  Mr.  Harteley  usually  have  his 
windows  open  on  pleasant  days?" 

"He  opened  them  sometimes." 

"Did  you  see  any  marks  on  the  window  as 
if  it  had  been  opened  from  the  outside?" 

"No,  Ay  not  see  any  marks,  but  them 
thieves  bane  awful  foxy." 

The  chauffeur  told  of  bringing  Mr.  Harte 
ley  to  the  office,  and  leaving  him  before  the 
Tramway  Building.  No,  he  did  not  go  into 
the  building  at  once ;  he  stood  as  if  waiting 
for  someone.  Mr.  Landis  smiled  at  this  un 
expected  admission,  but  it  was  his  only  chance 
for  mirth.  The  chauffeur  was  positive  that 
Mr.  Harteley  was  wearing  a  scarf  pin  that 

244 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

morning.  He  was  positive  that  this  was  the 
pin.  Mr.  Landis  cross-examined  him  at  some 
length,  but  to  little  purpose.  Was  he  in  the 
habit  of  noticing  such  things?  He  was,  and 
promptly  proved  it  by  describing  the  tie 
and  pin  worn  by  the  judge  at  that  moment 
without  looking  at  the  bench.  Had  he  taken 
particular  notice  of  Mr.  Harteley's  neckwear 
that  morning?  Not  so  very  particular.  Was 
it  not  possible  that  he  was  mistaken  in  saying 
that  Mr.  Harteley  wore  this  particular  pin 
on  that  occasion?  He  didn't  think  so.  Alto 
gether,  a  damaging  witness  for  the  defence. 
Sheriff  MacDaniel,  of  Blake  County,  told 
the  story  of  the  prisoner's  arrest.  The  pin 
was  shown  and  identified.  The  cross-exam 
ination  was  brief: 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  what  was  the  physical  con 
dition  of  the  prisoner  when  you  brought  him 
to  the  city!" 

"He  seemed  well  enough." 
' '  Did  he  complain  of  being  sick  ! ' ' 
"No." 

"Did  he  complain  of  being  injured!" 
* ;  Not  while  we  had  him. ' ' 
"Did  he  have  any  broken  bones!" 
"Well,  I'm  no'  a  doctor,  but  he  did  na  tell 
me  of  any." 

245 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"He  seemed  well,  hearty,  and  sound  when 
you  handed  him  over  to  the  police  authorities 
here!" 

"Well,  if  I'd  been  buyin'  a  horse  that 
looked  the  same,  I'd  a  thought  he  was  sound." 

"Were  there  any  marks  on  his  face?" 

"Barrin'  the  mark  the  de'il  set  on  him 
when  he  was  born,  none." 

"No  bruises,  or  black  eyes,  or  anything 
of  that  sort!" 

"No." 

' '  Did  you  ask  him  how  he  came  to  have  this 
pin?" 

"I  object,"  said  the  district  attorney. 

"Objection  sustained,"  said  the  judge. 
Mr.  Landis  took  an  exception,  and  the  sheriff 
left  the  stand. 

Then  came  the  introduction  of  the  confes 
sion  as  evidence.  It  read  as  follows: 

"My  name  is  Ed  Brace,  I  am  called  Kid 
Brace.  I  was  born  in  this  city,  and  I  am 
twenty- two  years  old.  I  was  sent  to  prison 
for  larceny  from  Spring  Valley,  this  state, 
two  years  ago ;  and  was  released  a  week  be 
fore  committing  this  awful  crime.  I  came 
here  and  got  in  with  Bed  Heinze.  We  robbed 
a  lot  of  houses  Saturday.  I  was  lookout,  Ked 

246 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

did  the  robbing.  We  went  down  to  the  Bad 
Lands  and  spent  Saturday  night.  Red  said 
he  had  an  easy  crib  to  crack  Sunday  morn 
ing,  with  a  lot  of  stuff  in  it.  It  was  in  the 
Tramway  Building.  We  went  into  the  alley, 
and  got  in  by  the  fire-escape  and  the  window. 
It  was  daylight,  but  nobody  saw  us.  We  were 
working  at  the  safe  when  someone  come  into 
the  outer  room,  and  we  sneaked  into  the  room 
fartherest  in.  He  was  a  big  man,  with  a  nice 
pin.  Red  whispered  to  me  he  was  going  to 
have  that  pin.  The  man  opened  the  safe,  took 
out  something,  and  sat  down  to  his  desk. 
Then  he  got  up  again,  and  come  in  the  little 
room  where  we  was.  He  saw  us.  He  run 
back  to  the  office  where  the  safe  was,  and  we 
after  him.  I  give  him  the  strong  arm,  and 
Red  stuck  the  knife  into  him.  Then  we  went 
through  things  and  come  away.  Red  give  me 
the  pin.  This  is  the  pin." 

(signed)  KID  BRACE. 

Mike  Kennedy  went  on  the  stand,  and 
swore  that  this  was  the  confession  he  had 
heard  from  the  lips  of  Kid  Brace,  that  the 
prisoner  had  signed  the  confession  in  his, 
Mike's,  presence,  after  it  was  read  to  him; 
and  that  he  had  done  the  same  without  being 

247 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

urged  thereto  by  either  threats  or  promises. 
The  court  adjourned  for  noon  with  Mike  still 
on  the  stand. 

"  'This  awful  crime,'  "  quoted  Kern  to 
Landis  as  the  two  made  for  a  restaurant  to 
gether.  "Now,  if  he  had  only  fled  in  horror 
from  the  ghastly  sight,  the  police  sense  of 
dramatic  fitness  would  have  been  completely 
satisfied.  I  wonder  how  Mike  came  to  forget 
that  little  detail?" 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

The  theory  and  practice  of  confessions. 

IF  the  courtroom  had  been  packed  at  the 
morning  session,  it  was  jammed  at  the  after 
noon  one.  Many  people  seemed  not  to  have 
left  the  room  at  all.  Gray  had  been  en 
gaged  to  take  the  story  for  an  eastern  paper, 
an  engagement  which  he  valued  chiefly  for 
the  seat  it  secured  him  at  the  press  table. 
He  and  Kern  were  perspiring  by  the  time 
they  had  struggled  through  the  crowd  to 
their  station. 

4 'Why,  there's  Stannard,"  observed  Gray, 
looking  across  the  room. 

"Sure,"  said  Kern.  "He  was  here  this 
morning.  He  doesn't  mean  to  let  any  new 
pointers  in  perjury  get  by  him.  Very  thor 
ough  man,  Stannard."  The  young  reporter 
of  the  Herald  laughed  consumedly. 

"Why  don't  you  say  that  in  your  paper?" 
he  asked. 

"Old  man  has  prejudices,  just  like  Gene, 
here,"  explained  Kern.  "And  you  know  one 
must  defer  to  the  owner  a  little  of  the  time. 
Beastly  nuisance,  but  it  has  to  be  done." 

249 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

1  'How's  the  Evening  Heart-Throb,  or,  the 
Woman's  American  Daily?"  asked  Gray  of 
the  lady  special  writer. 

1 '  It  would  be  all  right  if  we  didn  't  have  so 
many  men  on  the  staff.  They  always  spoil 
things."  The  special  writer  was  quite  ac 
customed  to  holding  her  own  in  such  con 
claves. 

''Awfully  dull,  aren't  they!"  said  Kern. 
"But  they'll  absorb  some  of  your  brightness 
if  you  keep  beaming  on  'em  long  enough. ' ' 

"Better  get  her  up  to  our  joint,  then,  and 
see  if  she  can't  shine  a  little  human  intelli 
gence  into  old  Brambles, ' '  said  Gray.  * '  Here 
comes  His  Nibs.  Golly!  How  his  face  must 
hurt!" 

Mr.  Landis  began  his  cross-examination 
of  Mike  in  an  almost  disinterested  manner. 

"How  long  have  you  been  chief  of  police 
in  this  city,  Mr.  Kennedy?" 

"Four  years  come  summer." 

"Were  you  in  the  police  force  before  be 
coming  chief?" 

"I  worked  up  from  the  ranks." 

"You  are  accustomed  to  examining  crim 
inals,  and  checking  up  on  the  truth  of  their 
stories?" 

"I  think  so." 

250 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"You  have  got  it  down  to  a  system  by  this 
time,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Is  it  a  good  system!" 

"Well,  I  make  it  work." 

"Tell  the  jury  how  you  make  it  work." 

"Well,  let  'em  know  I'm  onto  'em,  and  I 
ask  'em  questions,  and  when  they  lie  to  me  I 
call  'em  down.  And  I  keep  at  'em.  That's 
all." 

"You  keep  at  'em  till  they  tell  the  sort  of 
story  you  want?"  The  district  attorney  was 
on  his  feet  with  an  objection,  but  not  quickly 
enough  to  head  off  Mike's  artless  answer: 

"Sure  thing." 

The  district  attorney  moved  that  the  ques 
tion  and  answer  be  stricken  out.  Mr.  Landis 
argued  the  point,  but  the  judge  held  with  the 
prosecution.  Mr.  Landis  turned  once  more 
to  his  cross-examination : 

"Did  you  believe  the  prisoner  guilty  when 
he  was  brought  to  you?" 

"I  thought  he  might  be." 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"I  told  him  he'd  better  come  through." 

"What  did  you  mean  by  'come  through'?" 

"Tell  us  how  he'd  done  it." 

' '  That  was  the  first  thing  you  said  to  him  ? ' ' 

251 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 


<  c 


'Yes."  Two  of  the  jurymen  looked  at 
each  other,  and  smiled  faintly.  On  direct 
examination,  Mike  had  told  of  his  solemn 
warning  to  the  prisoner  that  whatever  he 
might  say  would  be  used  against  him.  Mr. 
Landis  went  on: 

"So  the  first  thing  you  asked  him  was  not 
whether  he  had  killed  Mr.  Harteley,  but  how 
he  had  killed  Mr.  Harteley.  You  assumed  his 
guilt,  and  tried  to  make  him  tell  you  a  story 
that  would  square  with  your  assumption?" 

Again  the  district  attorney  objected.  This 
time,  after  an  argument,  the  objection  was 
overruled.  Mr.  Landis  repeated  the  question. 
Mike  answered  sullenly  in  the  affirmative. 

"And  then  he  gave  you  this  confession?" 

"Yes." 

"How  long  did  it  take  you  to  persuade 
the  prisoner  to  sign  a  document  that  was 
likely  to  hang  him?" 

"I  don't  know  how  long  it  took." 

"What  time  was  it  when  you  got  this  con 
fession  ?" 

"About  eleven  o'clock." 

"You  heard  the  sheriff  testify  that  he 
turned  the  prisoner  over  to  your  care  before 
nine  o'clock?" 

"Yes." 

252 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Is  that  true!" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Then  it  took  you  between  two  and  three 
hours  to  work  your  system  on  this  defend 
ant?" 

"Maybe." 

"Isn't  that  what  it  comes  to?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  he  didn't  tell  you  this  story  at 
first?" 

' '  No. ' '  The  chief  thought  a  minute  before 
replying,  but  that  was  plainly  the  only 
answer  to  make. 

"What  did  he  tell  you  at  first?" 

"Oh,  he  got  off  a  lot  of  bullcon  about  not 
being  in  town  that  night,  and  swiping  the 
pin  somewheres  else." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'bullcon'?" 

"Hogwash,"  said  Mike;  and  then  as  a 
chuckle  went  round  the  room,  he  tried  to  ex 
plain,  diving  deeper  into  the  sea  of  slang  at 
each  effort.  Mr.  Landis  came  to  his  rescue. 

"You  mean  a  story  that  isn't  true?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  you  know  it  wasn't  true?" 

"Because  I  was  onto  him." 

"How  did  you  get  'onto'  him,  with  both 
feet?" 

253 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Objected  to.    Objection  sustained. 

"Then  this  defendant  told  you  at  first  a 
story  entirely  different  from  this  confes 
sion?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  you  persuade  him  to  change?" 

Objected  to.  Objection  overruled.  Mr. 
Landis  repeated  the  question. 

"I  just  let  him  know  his  dope  was  no  good, 
and  kept  at  him." 

"Meaning  that  his  story  wasn't  what  you 
wanted?" 

"Yes." 

' '  And  you  kept  at  him  till  he  told  the  story 
you  did  want?" 

There  was  a  hot  argument  before  this  ques 
tion  was  permitted.  Mike  answered : 

"I  kept  at  him  till  he  come  through." 

"Came  through  with  the  story  you 
wanted?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  you  keep  at  him?" 

"Kept  asking  him  questions." 

"And  when  he  didn't  answer  them  to  suit 
you,  what  did  you  do?" 

"I  didn't  do  nothing.    I  just  kept  at  him." 

"Did  you  swear  at  him?" 

"Maybe." 

254 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Did  you  threaten  him?" 

"No!" 

"Did  you  strike  him?" 

"No!" 

"Did  you  choke  him?" 

"No!" 

"Did  you  give  him  the  water  cure?" 

"No!" 

"Did  you  tell  him  that  whatever  he  said 
would  be  used  to  hang  him?" 

"No!"  said  Mike.  His  face  had  settled 
into  a  scowling  mask  of  denial,  and  his  brain 
was  too  slow  to  note  in  time  the  changed  form 
of  the  question.  He  saw  it  after  the  answer 
was  out,  and  his  puffy  lidded  eyes  drew  into 
an  angrier  glare  than  before.  The  district 
attorney  started  to  object,  thought  better  of 
it,  and  Mr.  Landis  followed  up  the  lead ;  re 
stating  the  admission  so  that  the  dullest  jury 
man  could  understand  it : 

"So  you  kept  at  him,  to  get  the  story  you 
wanted,  but  you  didn't  tell  him  that  that  story 
might  hang  him.  Did  you  use  any  violence 
toward  him?" 

"No!" 

"Just  gentle  persuasion,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

"And  under  that  gentle  persuasion,  the  de- 

255 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Yes." 

"You  assumed  his  guilt,  as  you  did  that  of 
the  present  defendant!" 

"I  told  him  to  come  through  and  tell  the 
truth." 

"And  Lloyd  made  a  confession?" 

"Yes." 

"He  signed  a  statement,  admitting  that  he 
had  killed  the  soldier?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Giving  full  details  as  to  how  he  killed  the 
soldier?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  that  confession  true?" 

"I  think  it  was." 

"Wasn't  it  proven  at  the  trial  that  Lloyd 
was  over  two  miles  away  at  the  time  of  the 
killing?" 

"A  lot  of  niggers  swore  he  was." 

"Didn't  some  white  men  swear  it,  too!" 

"Maybe." 

"Don't  you  know  whether  they  did  or 
not?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  some  white  men  swear  that  Lloyd 
was  over  two  miles  away  at  the  time  of  the 
killing!" 

"Yes." 

258 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Didn't  the  jury  accept  their  testimony, 
and  set  the  negro  free  ? ' ' 

"They  turned  him  loose." 

"Didn't  he  testify  on  the  stand  that  you 
had  kicked  and  choked  him,  and  beaten  him 
with  a  black  jack,  and  threatened  to  give  him 
the  water  cure  if  he  didn't  tell  what  you 
wanted  him  to?" 

"He  told  a  pack  of  lies." 

"The  jury  seemed  to  believe  him  though?" 

"They'd  believe  anything." 

"Do  you  think  they'll  believe  you  when 
you  say  that  you  didn't  strike  or  threaten 
this  defendant?" 

Objected  to.    Objection  sustained. 

The  court  adjourned  till  the  following  day. 
As  the  sheriff  came  to  lead  the  prisoner  away, 
he  beckoned  to  Kern.  The  reporter  came 
up. 

"Say,"  said  the  thief,  "you  won't  let  them 
hang  me,  will  you  ? ' ' 

"No,"  said  Kern  in  a  voice  too  low  for  the 
jealous  watchers  to  hear.  "They  won't  hang 
you.  Not  in  a  thousand  years." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

Ancient  history  is  very  troublesome.  The  boy  finds  it 
hard  to  learn ;  and  the  man  finds  it  harder  to  forget. 

ALL  the  next  forenoon  Mike  was  on  the 
stand;  and  by  the  time  he  left  it,  even  the 
men  at  the  press  table  almost  pitied  him.  For 
the  old  lawyer  took  the  chief  of  police  back 
over  case  after  case  of  brutal  violence, 
violence  known  to  more  than  one  of  the  jur 
ors,  and  gave  him  his  choice  between  admit 
ting  his  illegal  outrages,  or  perjuring  himself. 
Mike  uniformly  chose  the  latter  alternative; 
and  Mr.  Landis  was  well  content  to  have  it 
so.  The  jury  was  above  the  average  in  in 
telligence;  which  is  to  say  that  perhaps  half 
of  the  jurymen  could  have  qualified  for  a 
nine-dollar-a-week  job  without  the  help  of  a 
pull;  and  they  recognized  plainly  the  chief's 
helpless  floundering.  The  attitude  of  the 
judge  seemed  to  have  changed.  He  was  a 
narrow,  prejudiced,  irritable  man,  but  not  an 
unkindly  one;  and  he  allowed  a  latitude  of 
cross-questioning  that  enabled  Mr.  Landis  to 
set  the  third  degree  before  the  jury  in  un 
mistakable  guise. 

260 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  jeweller  who  had  made  the  opal  pin 
for  Harteley  was  called  in  to  identify  it.  He 
did  so,  without  cross-examination.  The  pawn 
broker  from  the  mountain  town  testified  that 
this  was  the  pin  which  the  defendant  had 
tried  to  pawn.  Again  Mr.  Landis  did  not 
cross-examine.  Then  Billy  Brown  was  called 
to  corroborate  Mike's  story  of  the  confession. 
Properly  speaking,  Billy  should  have  fol 
lowed  immediately  after  Mike;  but  the  dis 
trict  attorney  had  waited,  trying  to  devise 
some  way  of  avoiding  putting  the  chief  of 
detectives  on  the  stand  at  all.  This  was  quite 
impossible,  however.  Mike's  testimony  was 
so  thoroughly  discredited  that,  left  to  itself, 
it  would  never  stand  the  test;  so  most  re 
luctantly  the  district  attorney  called  the  king 
of  Brown  County  to  the  stand.  Billy  told  his 
story  with  a  sullen  manner  and  a  suspicious 
glare,  even  on  direct  examination.  When  the 
cross-examination  began,  his  look  was  frankly 
menacing.  Mr.  Landis  busied  himself  with 
some  documents  on  the  table,  selected  one — 
a  large  envelope — and  stepped  in  front  of 
the  witness  chair. 

"Your  name  is ?" 

"William  A.  Brown." 

"What  does  the  "A"  stand  for?" 

261 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

<  <  U—u—r—rr— Albert. ' ' 

"Is  that  the  only  name  you  ever  had?" 

"Wot  do  you  mean?"  There  was  fear  as 
well  as  menace  in  the  muddy  brown  eyes. 
The  cub  was  fairly  hugging  himself  for  glee. 
Kern  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  a 
look  of  merciless  pleasure  on  his  face ;  a  look 
such  as  a  Eoman  noble  might  have  bent  on 
the  arena  when  a  good  fight  was  in  progress, 
and  his  favorite  gladiator  was  winning. 

' '  Did  you  ever  go  by  any  other  name  than 
William  Albert  Brown?  I  should  think  you 
could  understand  that  question." 

' '  You  will  have  to  answer, ' '  said  the  judge 
as  the  detective  hesitated. 

"Naw!"  said  the  witness. 

"Never  went  by  any  other  name  than  the 
one  you  have  now?" 

"Naw!" 

"Think  again.  Did  you  ever  go  by  the 
name  of  Harry  Williams?" 

"None  o'  yer  business!" 

"Answer  the  question!"  said  the  judge 
sharply. 

"Did  you  ever  go  by  the  name  of  Harry 
Williams?"  repeated  Mr.  Landis. 

"Mebbe." 

"Have  you  had  so  many  names  you  can't 
keep  track  of  them?" 

262 


THE  SCALES  OP  JUSTICE 

"Nawl" 

"Then  answer:  Did  you  ever  go  by  the 
name  of  Harry  Williams  I" 

"Yes!" 

"Your  memory  seems  to  be  improving. 
Where  did  you  live  when  you  bore  the  name 
of  Harry  Williams?" 

"In  Buffalo." 

"The  jury  will  please  note  that  after  first 
swearing  that  he  never  had  any  other  name 
than  the  one  he  now  bears,  the  witness  admits 
having  borne  a  different  name.  If  you 
weren't  a  detective,  Mr. — Brown- Williams,  I 
should  think  that  was  very  near  to  perjury. 
Now,  were  you  ever  convicted  of  a  felony?" 

"I  ain't  got  to  answer  that  sort  o'  dope!" 

"You  will  have  to  answer  the  questions!" 
said  the  judge. 

"Were  you  ever  convicted  of  a(  felony?" 

"Yes!" 

"Where?" 

"In  Buffalo.  Say,  who's  put  you  next  to 
dis?" 

"Never  mind  that  for  the  present.  Of  what 
offence  were  you  convicted  in  Buffalo?" 

"Aw,  they  said  I  bumped  a  guy  off!" 

"Killed  a  man,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes!"     The  chief  of  detectives  had  by 

263 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

<  <  U—u—r—rr— Albert. ' ' 

"Is  that  the  only  name  you  ever  had?" 

"Wot  do  you  mean?"  There  was  fear  as 
well  as  menace  in  the  muddy  brown  eyes. 
The  cub  was  fairly  hugging  himself  for  glee. 
Kern  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  a 
look  of  merciless  pleasure  on  his  face ;  a  look 
such  as  a  Roman  noble  might  have  bent  on 
the  arena  when  a  good  fight  was  in  progress, 
and  his  favorite  gladiator  was  winning. 

' '  Did  you  ever  go  by  any  other  name  than 
William  Albert  Brown?  I  should  think  you 
could  understand  that  question." 

"You  will  have  to  answer,"  said  the  judge 
as  the  detective  hesitated. 

"Naw!"  said  the  witness. 

"Never  went  by  any  other  name  than  the 
one  you  have  now?" 

"Naw!" 

"Think  again.  Did  you  ever  go  by  the 
name  of  Harry  Williams?" 

"None  o'  yer  business!" 

"Answer  the  question!"  said  the  judge 
sharply. 

"Did  you  ever  go  by  the  name  of  Harry 
Williams?"  repeated  Mr.  Landis. 

"Mebbe." 

"Have  you  had  so  many  names  you  can't 
keep  track  of  them?" 

262 


THE  SCALES  OP  JUSTICE 

"Nawt" 

"Then  answer:  Did  you  ever  go  by  the 
name  of  Harry  Williams !" 

"Yes!" 

"Your  memory  seems  to  be  improving. 
Where  did  you  live  when  you  bore  the  name 
of  Harry  Williams?" 

"In  Buffalo." 

"The  jury  will  please  note  that  after  first 
swearing  that  he  never  had  any  other  name 
than  the  one  he  now  bears,  the  witness  admits 
having  borne  a  different  name.  If  you 
weren't  a  detective,  Mr. — Brown- Williams,  I 
should  think  that  was  very  near  to  perjury. 
Now,  were  you  ever  convicted  of  a  felony?" 

"I  ain't  got  to  answer  that  sort  o'  dope!" 

"You  will  have  to  answer  the  questions!" 
said  the  judge. 

"Were  you  ever  convicted  of  a<  felony?" 

"Yes!" 

"Where?" 

"In  Buffalo.  Say,  who's  put  you  next  to 
dis?" 

"Never  mind  that  for  the  present.  Of  what 
offence  were  you  convicted  in  Buffalo?" 

"Aw,  they  said  I  bumped  a  guy  off!" 

"Killed  a  man,  do  you  mean!" 

"Yes!"     The  chief  of  detectives  had  by 

263 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

this  time  caught  sight  of  Kern's  smiling  face, 
and  his  own  was  drawing  into  an  expression 
of  the  most  malignant  ferocity. 

1 1  Were  you  convicted  of  killing  this  man  I ' ' 

"They  put  it  onto  me." 

"You  were  sentenced  for  manslaughter, 
were  you  not?" 

"Yes." 

"How  long  was  the  sentence?" 

"They  had  me  for  a  two-spot?" 

"A  two-year  term  in  prison, do  you  mean ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  recognize  this  picture?"  Mr. 
Landis  leaned  forward  with  a  photograph  of 
a  man  in  prison  garb.  There  was  no  mus 
tache  in  the  picture,  and  it  had  a  youthful 
look  hard  to  associate  with  the  king  of  Brown 
County ;  but  for  all  that,  it  was  unmistakably 
the  portrait  of  Billy  Brown.  There  was  no 
disguising  the  rudimentary  forehead,  the  big, 
outstanding  ears,  the  yellow,  protruding 
teeth,  the  crooked,  curving  nose,  with  the 
malignant  eyes  pinched  against  it  like  twin 
imps  peering  around  a  corner. 

' '  Do  you  recognize  this  picture  ? ' '  persisted 
Mr.  Landis. 

"Yes!" 

"Whose  is  it?" 

264 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"You  know  whose  'tis!" 

"Whose  is  it?" 

"Mine!"  Billy's  hands  were  opening  and 
closing  as  if  he  ached  to  fasten  them  on  some 
one's  throat.  Mr.  Landis  passed  the  photo 
graph  to  the  jury. 

"So,  Mr.  Brown- Williams,  you  have  killed 
a  man,  and  served  a  term  in  prison  for  it; 
and  yet  you  pose  as  a  peace  officer,  and  a 
guardian  of  the  law.  Can  you  think  of  any 
other  chapters  in  your  history  which  would 
help  the  jury  to  estimate  your  testimony  at 
its  proper  value?" 

"Naw!" 

"Well,  it's  hardly  necessary.  Take  the 
witness,"  added  Mr.  Landis  to  the  district 
attorney.  "And  allow  me  to  congratulate 
you  on  your  choice." 

"My  witness  and  your  client  seem  to  be 
quite  in  a  class!"  snapped  the  district  attor 
ney.  The  story  of  Billy's  term  in  prison  was 
as  new  to  him  as  it  was  to  the  jury.  He 
made  what  effort  he  could  to  bring  the  waver 
ing  beam  of  the  scales  of  justice  back  to  his 
side. 

"How  old  were  you  when  you  were  sen 
tenced  for  this  offence  ? ' ' 

' '  'Bout  twenty-one. ' ' 

265 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"A  mere  boy.  How  did  you  come  to  kill 
this  man?" 

1  'Aw,  we  had  a  row  at  de  votin'  place,  an' 
he  got  in  the  way  of  somep'n',  an'  they  stuck 
me  for  it." 

"Did  you  serve  your  full  sentence?" 

"Yep." 

'  *  Is  this  the  only  offence  of  which  you  have 
been  convicted?" 

"Yes." 

"If  my  distinguished  opponent  cares  to 
take  the  stand  and  give  the  witness  a  certi 
ficate  of  subsequent  good  character,  we'll  ac 
cept  it,"  said  Mr.  Landis.  A  chuckle  went 
round  the  room.  Billy  came  down  from  the 
stand,  crouched  and  a-snarl  like  a  baited 
panther,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Kern.  The  re 
porter's  smile  broadened  to  a  noiseless  laugh; 
and  before  anyone  could  interfere,  Billy  was 
shaking  a  lean,  bejewelled  fist  in  Kern's  face. 

"You  done  dis !"  His  fury  choked  his  sen 
tences  to  short  gasps,  and  quite  precluded 
any  satisfactory  swearing.  "You  done  it! 
You  put  'im  next!  I'll  get  youse,  see?  An' 
'im,  too!"  The  shaking  fist  came  a  bit  too 
near,  and  in  a  flash  Kern's  grip  closed  on 
Billy's  wrist.  Kern  did  not  rise,  he  did  not 
speak,  his  cruel  smile  never  wavered;  but 

266 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Billy's  snarl  twisted  to  a  grimace  of  pain, 
and  he  bent  double,  and  settled  to  his  knees. 
The  judge  rapped  angrily.  Two  deputies  by 
this  time  reached  the  press  table,  and,  still 
smiling,  Kern  released  his  hold.  Billy  was 
conducted  from  the  courtroom.  Court  ad 
journed  till  the  next  day. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  muscle,"  said  Landis 
to  Kern. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  brains,"  was  the  re 
tort.  "You  have  this  verdict  in  your  pocket, 
right  now.  I  was  sorry  to  take  the  credit 
that  properly  belongs  to  the  cub,  but  the  way 
the  matter  came  up  didn't  leave  any  choice." 

"The  cub  was  just  a  messenger,"  Landis 
reminded  him.  "Anyway,  it  isn't  an  honor 
that  a  timid  man  would  covet.  He  stepped 
into  Miss  Harteley's  machine.  Kern  declined 
an  invitation  to  follow,  and  stood  watching 
as  the  car  spun  away.  A  rustle  of  silk  called 
back  his  wandering  fancies,  and  he  turned  to 
encounter  the  gaze  of  Mrs.  Greenway.  Kern 
raised  his  hat  courteously. 

"You've  got  something  of  a  man  about 
you,  anyway,"  said  the  blonde  lady. 

"We  are  thankful  for  small  favors,  though 
they  do  but  feed  the  flame,"  smiled  Kern. 
"When  did  you  make  the  encouraging  dis 
covery?" 

267 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Why  didn't  you  take  your  chance  to  ride 
with  the  swells?"  asked  Mrs.  Greenway. 

"And  you  not  with  them!  Can  you  ask?" 
said  Kern,  falling  into  step  beside  her.  ' '  But 
when  did  you  make  the  discovery  of  my 
manly  qualities?" 

"You're  a  fool,"  said  the  blonde  lady. 

"I  feel  it,  in  your  presence,"  admitted 
Kern.  "But  unless  my  memory  deceives  me, 
you  said  not  long  since  that  I  wasn't  a  fool." 

"That  was  about  something  else,"  count 
ered  the  lady  of  adventure.  * '  Why  didn  't  you 
take  that  chance  for  a  ride?  Anybody  could 
see  you  was  dying  to  go?" 

"If  I  am  dying,  no  one  who  saw  me  now 
could  doubt  the  cause.  When  are  you  going 
to  let  me  have  that  lock  of  your  hair?" 

1  i  Rats ! ' '  said  the  woman.  ' '  Tain 't  my  hair 
you  want.  You're  dead  in  love  with  someone 
else!  Why  don't  you  ask  for  her  hair?" 

"Is  it  good  form  to  discuss  such  things?" 
asked  Kern.  "I'm  sure  you  don't  do  it  at 
home.  If  Mr. — ah — Evans  had  to  listen  to 
disquisitions  on  Mr.  Greenway,  and  Mr.  Gif- 
ford,  and  Mr.  Harteley,  and  all  the  other 
gentlemen  who  have  basked  in  the  sunshine 
of  your  smile,  I  fancy  he  'd  feel  peeved.  How 
ever,  if  you  don't  think  so,  I'll  call  some 
evening,  and  talk  over  old  times  with  him." 

268 


"Drat  the  old  times!"  said  Mrs.  Green- 
way.  "You  ain't  stuck  on  ancient  history, 
any  more'n  I  am.  It's  the  old  times  that's 
keepin'  you  from  goin'  after  the  woman  you 
want,  an'  gettin'  her — an'  I'm  just  gettin' 
fat  a  watchin'  you  stew !  This  is  my  car,  now, 
an'  you  can  run  along!" 

She  boarded  the  car,  and  ostentatiously 
waved  her  hand  at  him  from  the  outside  seat. 
He  bowed  in  reply,  and  then  turned  to  his 
walk  with  the  weary  look  of  an  old  and  sorely 
tried  man. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  but  always  count  the  silver. 

FOB  Kid  Brace,  the  night  passed  all  too 
quickly;  since  next  to  his  all  mastering  fear 
of  the  gallows  came  his  dread  of  going  on 
the  stand  and  telling  his  story,  perhaps  under 
the  very  eyes  of  his  torturers.  But  for  the 
other  interested  persons  the  night  seemed 
interminable.  The  courtroom  was  crowded 
two  minutes  after  the  doors  were  unlocked; 
and  the  throng  stewed  and  stifled  in  the 
intolerable  air,  until  at  last  the  judge  came 
through  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  bench, 
and  the  crier  rose  to  proclaim  with  nasal 
whine  that  the  honorable  court  was  in  ses 
sion.  Then  the  crowded  room  seemed  to  give 
a  little  sigh,  as  an  emblem  of  waiting  past, 
and  of  pleasures  to  come.  But  Miss  Harteley, 
who  was  one  of  the  spectators,  felt  no  antici 
patory  thrills.  She  was  there,  as  she  had 
been  there  every  session  after  Mr.  Landis 
had  assured  her  that  the  knife  was  out  of 
the  way,  because  she  felt  it  a  duty  to  see  the 
thing  through  in  person. 

The  prosecution  rested  almost  at  once.  Mr. 

270 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Landis  vouchsafed  no  further  statements  to 
the  jury,  but  called  Kid  Brace  to  the  stand. 
The  thief  took  the  oath  in  a  hesitating,  fright 
ened  way,  and  slipped  into  the  witness  chair. 
After  the  usual  questions  as  to  name,  resi 
dence,  etc.,  Mr.  Landis  began: 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  jail,  county  jail,  I 
mean  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir."  The  frightened  look  and  tone 
were  not  lost  on  the  jury. 

"What  have  you  been  put  in  jail  for?" 

"Well,  when  I  was  a  kid,  they  run  me  in 
for  frisking  bananas  from  a  dago;  an'  then 
they  run  me  in  for  swipin'  coal  from  the 
tracks,  an'  then  for  one  thing  an'  another.  I 
don't  remember  it  all.  Seems  like  I've  been 
in  jail  half  the  time  since  I  was  big  enough." 

"Have  you  ever  been  arrested  before  for 
a  crime  of  violence  ? ' '  Mr.  Landis  had  to  ex 
plain  the  term  before  the  prisoner  under 
stood  ;  but  then  he  entered  a  prompt  negative. 

' '  Have  you  been  in  state  prison ! ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  is  the  object  of  these  questions!" 
asked  the  judge.  "I  hardly  understand 
this  method  of  defending  a  man." 

"If  it  pleases  the  court,"  said  Mr.  Landis, 
"I  am  trying  to  let  the  jury  see  exactly  what 

271 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

sort  of  fellow  my  client  is.  It  is  a  well  estab 
lished  principle  of  criminology  that  murder 
is  much  more  likely  to  be  committed  in  the 
heat  of  passion  by  a  supposedly  upright 
citizen  than  by  the  sort  of  criminal  which  my 
client  typifies.  We  have  nothing  to  extenuate 
nor  to  conceal." 

The  judge  grunted,  and  signed  to  proceed. 
Mr.  Landis  proceeded : 

"What  were  you  in  State  prison  for?" 

"Stealing." 

"Where?" 

"In  Spring  Valley." 

"Tell  the  jury  about  it." 

"Why,  it  was  a  vacant  house,  an'  some  of 
the  push  thought  it  would  be  easy  to  go 
through  it,  and  swipe  anything  the  family 
had  left.  I  was  in  it,  an'  I  got  pinched  trying 
to  pawn  the  stuff.  I  never  had  no  luck  that 
way. ' ' 

Mr.  Landis  smiled  with  the  rest  at  the 
naive  complaint.  "Did  you  plead  guilty  to 
the  charge?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  were  sent  to  the  penitentiary?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  long  before  the  crime  of  which  you 
are  now  accused  did  you  leave  the  peniten 
tiary?" 

272 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"A  little  over  a  week." 
"Tell  the  jury  about  that  week.'* 
The  Kid  told,  brokenly  at  first,  and  then 
with  more  freedom.  It  was  the  old  story  of  a 
helpless  scamp  and  a  hostile  society,  whose 
ignorance  and  fears  combine  to  make  an  hon 
est  life  all  but  impossible  to  one  who  has  once 
been  in  the  penitentiary.  He  told  of  meeting 
with  Red  Heinze,  of  the  second- story  work 
the  night  before  the  murder,  of  taking  the 
freight  train  after  dividing  the  plunder.  Mr. 
Landis  carried  him  rapidly  over  the  weeks 
intervening  between  the  burglaries  and  the 
arrest.  Then : 

"How  did  the  sheriff  treat  you!" 
"He  was  good  to  me."  The  pathetic  side 
of  the  jackal  nature  showed  once  more.  "He 
give  me  an  overcoat  to  keep  me  warm.  I'd 
'a'  froze  if  't'adn't  been  for  that.  I  told  him 
so,  an'  the  chief  says:  'Who  the  hell'd  care 
if  you  did  freeze?'  Just  like  that.  An'  I 
hadn't  done  nothing  to  him  at  all." 

"Tell  the  jury  what  the  chief  did  to  yon." 
The  Kid  shivered,  and  limped  haltingly  in 
to  his  tale.  Before  he  had  been  speaking  two 
minutes,  more  than  one  of  the  auditors  were 
shivering,  too.  Kern's  face  was  set  and  white, 
and  he  scarcely  touched  his  pencil;  but  he 

18  273 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

looked  steadily  across  the  room  to  where  Miss 
Harteley  was  sitting.  She  listened  in  wide- 
eyed  horror  till  the  Kid  told  how  Billy  got 
the  hose ;  and  then,  as  Frisco  Gig,  the  tramp, 
had  done  months  before,  so  the  philanthropic 
heiress  now  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands, 
and  refused  to  hear  more.  The  Kid  saw  the 
gesture,  and  suddenly  broke  down,  crying. 

"I  had  to  come  through!"  he  sobbed.  "I 
—I  couldn't  s — stand  it!  I  had  to  come 
through,  and  tell  him  what  he  wanted !  You'd 
'a'  done  it!  Oh,  Mister  Judge,  I  didn't  kill 
him!  Honest  to  God  I  didn't  kill  him!  Don't 
let  'em  hang  me!  I  seen  a  man  hung  in 
prison — oh,  my  God !  don't  let  'em  hang  me !" 

"There!  there!"  soothed  Landis,  as  a 
mother  might  speak  to  a  frightened  child. 
' '  No  one  is  trying  to  hurt  you  here.  No  one 
is  going  to  club  you."  The  judge  had  ab 
ruptly  faced  the  other  way,  and  seemed  both 
ered  by  something  in  his  throat.  Landis  went 
on  quietly: 

"When  they  gave  you  the  water  cure,  you 
had  to  come  through,  and  tell  them  the  story 
they  wanted!  All  right;  now,  what  next?" 

"They  wrote  it  down,  an'  made  me  sign 
it,"  said  Kid  Brace.  "I  was  awful  sick,  an' 
I  don't  know  just  how  things  went  for  a 

274 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

while.  They  got  the  surgeon,  an'  he  stuck 
things  in  my  arm  to  make  me  feel  better.  I 
was  full  of  water,  an'  I  vomited  some  of  it 
on  Mr.  Brown,  an'  he  knuckled  me  an'  choked 
me  again." 

"What  happened  next?" 

A  momentary  gleam  of  pleasure  lighted  the 
Kid's  weak  face.  "Mr.  Kern,  there,  hap 
pened  next,"  he  said,  pointing.  "He  come 
from  somewhere,  an'  slammed  Mr.  Brown 
agen  the  wall,  an'  took  his  gun  away  from 
him." 

A  subdued  but  hearty  burst  of  handclap- 
ping  followed  this  statement,  hushed  instantly 
before  the  judge's  frown.  "Take  the  wit 
ness,"  said  Mr.  Landis.  The  district  attor 
ney  shook  his  head.  He  was  throwing  away 
his  case,  and  he  knew  it;  but  not  for  the 
life  of  him  could  he  have  cross-questioned 
that  poor  thief  then. 

Mr.  Whiteman  testified  that  he  had  been 
called  late  that  night,  and  asked  to  go  to  the 
city  jail;  that  he  had  done  so;  and  that  he 
found  there  the  prisoner,  the  chief  of  police, 
the  surgeon,  and  Mr.  Kern.  The  prisoner 
was  dressed  only  in  his  underclothes.  His 
face  was  bruised  and  battered,  and  he  had 
two  broken  ribs.  Also,  he  was  terribly  fright- 

275 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

ened,  particularly  when  the  chief  came  near. 

' '  Could  his  injuries  have  been  caused  by  a 
fall?" 

"From  a  second-story  window,  perhaps." 

The  butler  testified  that  Mr.  Harteley  had 
worn  the  diamond  pin  the  morning  of  the 
murder;  and  not  the  opal  pin  at  all.  The 
opal  pin  had  been  missing  for  some  time ;  at 
least,  Mr.  Harteley  had  not  worn  it  for  some 
time.  On  cross-examination  he  was  more  or 
less  confused,  but  in  the  main  he  stuck  to  his 
statements.  It  was  the  butler's  word  against 
the  chauffeur's,  with  the  latter  as  probably 
the  more  effective  witness. 

The  sheriff,  MacDaniel,  was  summoned  for 
the  defence,  and  repeated  the  story  the  Kid 
had  told  him.  It  was  the  same  the  Kid  had 
testified  to  telling  the  police  officials,  and  the 
same  he  had  just  told  on  the  stand.  The 
warden  of  the  penitentiary  testified  to  the 
Kid's  general  timidity  and  harmlessness. 
The  defence  rested.  It  was  now  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon. 

The  district  attorney  made  a  well-thought- 
out  plea  for  the  conviction  of  the  prisoner. 
He  did  not  ask  or  desire  a  capital  sentence, 
he  said.  But  though  it  was  undeniable  that 
the  prisoner  had  been  badly  man-handled,  he 

276 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

considered  it  equally  undeniable  that  the  pris 
oner  was  involved  in  the  murder  of  Mr. 
Harteley.  It  would  be  a  rather  bad  preced 
ent  if  a  criminal  were  discharged  merely  be 
cause  a  police  official  had  lost  his  temper. 
The  district  attorney  spoke  for  an  hour  on 
the  case,  but  his  argument  left  the  jury  cold, 
not  to  say  hostile.  Mr.  Landis  rose  when  his 
turn  came. 

"I  have  no  argument  to  offer,"  said  Mr. 
Landis.  ' '  The  jury  is  quite  competent  to  sum 
up  this  case  without  any  help.  The  jury 
knows  that  this  pin  is  one  of  two  which  are 
missing  from  Harteley 's  effects ;  and  the  jury 
knows  that  a  man  doesn't  wear  two  stick  pins 
at  once.  The  gentlemen  of  the  jury  have 
heard  the  story  of  the  fiendish  violence  by 
which  my  client  was  forced  to  confess.  They 
know  that,  of  the  two  men  who  procured  that 
confession,  one  is  himself  an  ex-convict,  and 
the  other  a  habitual  bully,  who  is  known  to 
have  extorted  at  least  one  confession  from  a 
man  who  could  not  have  been  guilty,  a  man 
who  was  proven  innocent  by  the  clearest  and 
most  decisive  of  testimony.  I  am  willing  to 
submit  the  case  as  it  stands." 

The  district  attorney  offered  a  list  of  in 
structions  to  the  jury.  So  did  Mr.  Landis. 

277 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  latter,  of  course,  wanted  the  jury  to  un 
derstand  that  the  confession  was  not  evidence 
at  all  if  procured  by  threats  or  violence.  The 
district  attorney  was  anxious  for  the  jury 
to  understand  that  violence  after  the  con 
fession  was  made  did  not  invalidate  that 
document.  The  court  charged  the  jury  briefly 
and  clearly;  and  they  retired  in  custody  of 
the  sheriff.  Part  of  the  crowd  waited,  hoping 
for  an  immediate  verdict.  The  newspaper 
men  and  lawyers,  more  experienced  in  the 
ways  of  juries,  and  knowing  that  verdicts 
are  not  reached  without  tobacco,  scrambled 
to  the  outside. 

Much  to  everyone's  surprise,  it  was  snow 
ing  heavily.  Kern  handed  Miss  Harteley 
to  her  car.  She  stopped  him  as  he  turned 
to  go. 

"Mr.  Kern,"  she  said,  "I  shall  see  you 
again  very  soon,  but  there  are  some  things 
to  say  that  shouldn't  wait.  I  want  to  thank 
you,  and  to  thank  the  fortune  that  sent  you 
home  at  the  right  hour  to  meet  me  that  night. 
But  for  you,  they  would  have  murdered  this 
poor  wretch  for  the  reward  I  was  so  foolish 
as  to  offer;  or  perhaps  for  worse  reasons 
yet.  And  another  thing,  Mr.  Kern,  I  am  done 
with  my  efforts  to  find  the  men  who  killed 

278 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

my  father.  I  have  learned  my  lesson.  If 
their  conscience  does  not  punish  them,  they 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  me." 

Kern  shook  her  hand  in  answer,  caught 
himself  holding  that  hand,  and  dropped  it 
with  a  suddenness  that  made  the  girl  smile. 
"Thank  you,  Miss  Harteley,"  he  said,  and  for 
the  first  time  since  the  girl  had  known  him, 
his  voice  was  husky.  ' '  The  vengeance  business 
doesn't  pay,  even  when  you've  justice  on 
your  side.  I  know.  I'm  going  away  for  a 
while  now.  Please  think  kindly  sometimes 
of  the  yellow  journal  workers.  They  would 
appreciate  a  little  kindness." 

He  raised  his  hat,  and  stepped  back  to  the 
curb,  and  found  Mrs.  Greenway  waiting  for 
him.  She  put  out  a  large,  well  gloved  hand 
from  the  shelter  of  her  umbrella.  Kern  took 
it,  wondering. 

"It's  all  off,  Marquis,"  she  said.  "When 
that  kid — "  she  jerked  her  head  toward  the 
courtroom — "when  that  kid  told  how  you 
took  his  part,  and  slammed  Billy  Brown  into 
the  wall,  I  said  I'd  let  by-gones  be  by-gones— 
an'  I  will.  It's  all  off.  Go  in  an'  win.  I 
won't  hinder  you." 

"Thank  you.  There  might  be  other  hin 
drances,  though,"  said  Kern,  not  very 

279 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

clearly.  He  bowed,  dodged  back  to  a  group 
where  Landis  was  waiting,  talked  there  a 
moment,  gave  a  few  instructions  to  the  cub, 
and  then  made  for  the  office.  An  hour  and 
a  half  later,  as  Kern  was  writing  on  his 
story,  the  cub  came  in.  "Not  guilty!"  he 
said.  Kern  merely  nodded  as  at  an  expected 
thing,  and  went  on  writing.  A  few  minutes 
later,  the  managing  editor  came  out. 

1 1  Shake,  old  boy, ' '  he  said.  ' '  This  has  been 
a  great  piece  of  work. ' ' 

"It  has  been  a  big  victory  for  the  Star," 
said  Kern. 

"It's  been  a  bigger  victory  for  Arthur 
Kern  and  E.  A.  Landis,"  was  Jennings'  re 
ply.  "I  don't  know  which  of  you  deserves 
the  most  thanks,  but  together  you've  put  a 
crimp  in  this  third  degree  business  that  ought 
to  last  it  for  a  while. ' ' 

"I  hope  it  will,"  said  Kern.  "I'd  like  to 
take  my  vacation  now,  if  you  don 't  mind. ' ' 

"You  need  it,"  agreed  the  managing 
editor.  "How  long  do  you  want?" 

"Can  you  spare  me  a  couple  of  weeks?" 

"Sure." 

"Then  you'll  hear  from  me  in  two  weeks." 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

Mud  brick  for  stone,  and  "slime  had  they  for  mortar." 
The  description  applies  to  the  building  of  some  modern  for 
tunes  as  well  as  to  that  of  the  tower  of  Babel. 

Two  weeks  had  come  and  gone.  Kid  Brace, 
acquitted  of  murder,  was  awaiting  trial  for 
burglary,  well  pleased  to  have  the  jail  shut 
him  in  from  the  vengeance  of  Mike,  and  Billy 
Brown.  The  chief  fumed  over  the  verdict, 
but  in  a  subdued  sort  of  way.  Billy  had 
vanished  utterly.  Even  Mike  professed  not 
to  know  his  whereabouts.  Mr.  Landis  prac 
tised  a  little  extra  caution  when  obliged  to 
be  out  at  night,  but  otherwise  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  the  threat  made  in  the  courtroom. 
He  thought  that  Kern  was  the  man  who  was 
in  real  danger;  and  promised  himself  to 
counsel  the  young  man  to  prudence  when  he 
returned.  He  must  be  about  due,  now. 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  unspoken  thought 
came  a  ring  at  the  telephone,  and  a  query  if 
Mr.  Landis  would  be  in  his  office  for  a  few 
minutes.  Mr.  Landis  would.  Then  Jennings, 
the  managing  editor  of  the  Star,  would  be 
down  to  see  him. 

281 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

1  'I've  got  something  queer  here,"  said  Mr. 
Jennings,  entering  a  bit  later.  "You  know, 
Kern  went  away  for  his  vacation.  I  was 
expecting  him  back  to-day.  Instead,  I  get 
a  big  letter  sent  to  the  cub  a  week  ago,  with 
instructions  to  give  it  to  me  this  afternoon. 
I  opened  the  letter,  and  here's  what  I  found 
on  the  inside." 

It  was  a  large  envelope,  well  filled,  and 
addressed  in  typewriting.  "To  Mr.  E.  A. 
Landis,  and  Mr.  Albert  Jennings;  to  be 
opened  only  when  both  men  are  present,  un 
less  one  of  them  should  die  before  it  is  re 
ceived.  From  Arthur  Kern." 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  is?"  asked 
Landis. 

"I  don't  know  in  the  least,  but  suppose 
we  see,"  said  the  managing  editor. 

They  opened  the  envelope.  Inside  was  a 
neat  typewritten  manuscript,  without  date  or 
place  mentioned  at  the  head.  It  began : 

"My  One  Time  Friends:" 

"What  does  he  mean  by  addressing  us  that 
way?"  exclaimed  Landis,  the  chill  of  a  vague 
fear  striking  through  him.  The  editor  made 
slow  answer: 

"I  don't  know.  And  it's  no  use  to  guess. 
Let's  read  and  find  out."  They  turned  to 
the  paper. 

282 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"This  is  the  true  story  of  the  killing — not 
the  murder — of  William  Harteley.  It  may 
seem  to  begin  a  long  ways  back,  but  that 
cannot  be  helped. 

"My  father's  name  was  Edgar  Winthrop 
—so  is  mine,  by  the  way — and  he  was  grad 
uated  from  John  Calvin  College  in  the  same 
class  with  William  Harteley,  thirty-two  years 
ago.  The  two  men  were  close  friends  at 
school,  perhaps  because  they  were  so  utterly 
different.  My  father  was  modest,  gentle,, 
easy  going  of  mind  and  body,  in  spite  of 
his  intense  family  pride  and  keen  sense  of 
honor.  He  had  quite  a  little  money,  for 
those  days,  and  he  lived  in  a  community 
where  everyone  was  expected  to  have  some 
practical  business.  After  a  season  of  trying 
to  dodge  his  destiny  in  travel,  he  settled 
down  to  the  life  of  a  country  banker,  with 
a  stock  farm  for  a  hobby. 

"Harteley  was  quite  a  different  sort.  He 
was  daring,  resourceful,  unscrupulous;  ad 
mirably  fitted  for  what  he  called  business, 
though  it  was  a  business  closely  resembling 
that  of  Captain  Kidd.  His  father  was  a 
small  woollen  manufacturer,  without  a 
thought  beyond  his  looms  and  the  tariff ;  but 
William  Harteley  wanted  a  faster  game.  He 

283 


came  west  with  a  comfortable  stake,  lost  it 
all  in  mining,  and  turned  to  his  old  classmate, 
my  father,  for  help.  Father  lent  him  several 
thousand  dollars  for  a  new  start.  Harteley 
plunged  again,  made  a  stake,  paid  back  the 
loan;  and  then  turned  to  the  public  utility 
business  in  this  town — I  mean  the  town  in 
which  you  are  reading  this  letter.  I  am 
personally  quite  a  distance  away. 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  either  of  you 
gentlemen  the  story  of  the  old  gas  company. 
You  know  it  already.  You  know  how  it  used 
its  monopoly  while  it  had  one.  You  know 
how  the  new  company  came  in,  you  know 
of  the  fight,  and  of  the  consolidation  which 
put  an  end  to  that  fight — and  taxed  the  people 
for  the  expenses  of  the  war,  as  usual.  All 
the  public  details  of  that  war  are  perfectly 
familiar  to  you.  Harteley  plunged  with  his 
usual  confidence,  and  came  through  by  a  nar 
row  margin.  He  already  held  a  large  interest 
in  the  tramway,  considerably  more  than  he 
could  pay  cash  for.  He  then  loaded  up  with 
the  old  gas  company  stock,  hoping  to  make  a 
killing  himself,  when  the  new  company  came 
on  the  scene.  Then,  it  was  a  fight  with  his 
back  to  the  wall.  Harteley  tried  to  block 
the  new  company  in  the  council.  He  owned 

284 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

that  council,  had  bought  it  and  paid  for  it; 
but  the  new  fellows  outbid  him,  and  put  their 
franchise  through.  Then  it  went  to  the 
courts.  Harteley  owned  the  district  court, 
just  as  he  owned  the  council;  but  the  new 
company  didn't  have  to  outbid  him  there. 
They  simply  pitched  the  matter  into  the 
federal  courts,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  them 
selves. 

"But  Harteley  was  a  tough  customer,  even 
when  the  cards  were  running  against  him. 
The  old  gas  stock  had  been  knocked  flat  by 
the  new  franchise,  of  course,  and  when 
Harteley  kept  on  fighting,  the  new  company 
began  bidding  in  that  stock.  Of  course, 
Harteley  had  to  buy  it,  too;  and  the  new 
company  had  a  big  advantage  there.  Harte 
ley  strained  his  credit,  both  here  and  in  the 
east,  but  the  new  company  kept  crawling  up 
on  him.  The  time  came  when  Harteley  had 
to  raise  money  to  buy  more  of  that  stock,  or 
see  the  new  company  get  control,  and  kick 
him  out  altogether.  He  couldn  't  get  any  more 
money,  either  at  home  or  in  the  usual  places 
of  the  East.  It  was  then  that  he  thought  of 
my  father.  He  managed  to  get  a  few  day's 
grace  somehow,  and  came  to  Watervliet,  and 
laid  a  part  of  his  case  before  the  prosperous 
country  banker." 

285 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  two  readers  stopped,  looked  at  each 
other  without  speaking,  and  then  the  man 
aging  editor  shook  his  head.  Landis  got  up, 
walked  to  the  window,  stared  out  for  a  few 
moments;  then  came  back  to  the  table.  His 
cigar  had  gone  out,  and  he  was  trying  to  light 
it  with  a  short  pencil.  Jennings  supplied  a 
match,  and  the  reading  was  resumed. 

"I  do  not  offer  excuses  for  my  father's 
conduct.  I  suppose  there  is  no  excuse  for  it. 
He  was  entrusted  with  other  people's  money, 
and  he  had  no  business  putting  it  into  any 
such  deal.  But  remember  that  he  and  Harte- 
ley  were  classmates,  that  he  had  always  ad 
mired  in  Harteley  the  financial  daring  which 
he  lacked  himself;  and  that  he  had  once 
helped  Harteley  out  of  a  hole  without  losing 
money  by  it.  Anyway,  he  fell  into  the  trap. 
Whether  the  first  money  he  let  Harteley  have 
was  a  loan  with  that  worthless  gas  stock  as 
security,  a  loan  made  through  one  of  the 
dummy  accounts  we  found  afterwards,  I  do 
not  know.  It  may  have  been  that,  or  it  may 
be  that  father  bought  the  worthless  paper 
outright  at  something  like  the  price  Harteley 
set  on  it.  He  both  bought  and  lent  before 
he  was  through;  but  I  do  not  know  which 
he  did  first. 

286 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Harteley  went  away  with  his  money  and 
his  schemes.  I  think  the  cypher  he  had 
arranged  shows  that  he  intended  from  the 
very  first  to  cheat  my  father.  If  he  had 
meant  to  play  fair,  there  was  no  reason  for 
the  cypher;  the  new  company  hadn't  the  wit 
to  watch  Harteley's  telegrams,  as  he  seems 
to  have  told  father  they  would  do.  What 
makes  it  absolutely  certain  that  his  scheme 
was  dirty  is  that  he  gave  false  quotations 
on  some  of  that  stock — a  very  easy  thing  to 
do  when  you  consider  how  little  of  it  there 
was  in  the  open  market,  and  how  the  price 
kited  round  under  the  influence  of  the  con 
testing  bidders. 

"Harteley  came  back  with  my  father's 
money — and  other  money — and  bought  up  a 
good  block  of  the  stock.  The  new  company 
was  careless,  it  thought  Harteley  out  of  the 
running.  But  when  they  found  he  was  back 
in  the  harness,  they  began  to  bull  the  price. 
Intrinsically,  the  stock  wasn't  worth  a  can 
celled  postage  stamp;  it  didn't  represent  a 
dollar  of  actual  investment;  but  some  of  it 
sold  for  twice  its  par  value  before  the  fight 
was  over.  If  you  will  refer  back  to  the  cypher 
we  worked  out  together,  Mr.  Landis,  you  will 
find  higher  quotations  than  that.  And  my 

287 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

father  was  the  real  buyer  of  that  worthless 
stuff;  and  he  bought  it  with  the  money  of 
the  Watervliet  Stockgrowers'  Bank.  The  en 
closed  clippings  give  the  details.  I  prefer 
not  to  write  them. 

"At  the  end  of  the  campaign,  Harteley  had 
won  a  good  position  from  which  to  fight. 
That  was  all,  but  that  was  enough.  The  new 
company  offered  terms.  All  the  inside  of 
that  deal  I  do  not  know  yet.  What  is  cer 
tain  is  that  Harteley  did  not  protect  my 
father  and  other  outsiders  who  had  helped 
him  when  he  needed  help.  What  I  believe  is 
that  he  never  tried  to  protect  them,  and  never 
intended  to  try.  Harteley  and  his  immediate 
group  got  cash  and  the  bonds  of  the  new 
company  for  their  interest.  The  other 
holders  of  the  stock  were  left  to  shift  for 
themselves.  It  was  then  that  news  of  the 
deal  got  back  to  Watervliet.  My  father  sent 
his  last  telegram  to  Harteley,  the  long  one, 
in  the  notebook.  You  know  the  answer,  Mr. 
Landis. ' ' 

"What  was  the  answer?"  asked  Jennings. 

' '  He  begged  Harteley  to  stand  by  him,  and 
Harteley  told  him  to  go  hang  himself,"  said 
Mr.  Landis  hoarsely.  "My  God!  what  will 
the  end  of  this  be!" 

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THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

The  other  man  made  a  gesture  which  im 
plied  that  he  found  it  easy  to  guess  the  end. 

'  '  Up  to  this  time,  you  will  note  that  I  have 
not  figured  in  the  business  at  all.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  this  is  because  I  did  not  figure 
very  largely  in  my  father's  life,  except  as  a 
source  of  anxiety.  I  was  the  elder  of  two 
children,  born  with  all  the  stubborn  wilful- 
ness  that  had  once  characterized  our  breed; 
hungry  for  adventure,  excitement,  change. 
By  the  time  I  was  half  grown,  my  father 
had  become  content  with  his  humdrum  exist 
ence,  and  was  planning  a  similar  lot  for  me. 
It  was  useless.  I  was  a  good  enough  student, 
I  simply  ate  up  the  grades  at  the  local  school 
and  academy ;  but  I  would  not  settle  down  to 
discounting  notes  and  raising  Short-horns; 
and  I  had  no  taste  for  the  "learned  pro 
fessions"  which  father  offered  me  as  an 
alternative  to  business.  They  sent  me  to 
college  when  I  was  scant  seventeen.  Even 
Calvin  College  had  come  to  tolerate  football 
by  that  time,  and  so  long  as  the  season  lasted, 
I  played  half-back,  and  was  happy.  As  soon 
as  that  was  over,  I  began  getting  into  trouble. 
I  was  rebuked  by  the  faculty,  and  advised 
from  home,  but  it  did  no  good.  After  several 
months  of  wrangling,  I  turned  my  back  on 

19  289 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Calvin  College,  wrote  home  a  young  fool's 
letter  about  going  to  see  the  world;  and 
"rode  the  blind"  into  Chicago. 

* '  There  is  no  need  to  tell  in  detail  the  story 
of  the  years  that  followed.  They  were  years 
which  gave  me  an  education  quite  beyond  the 
power  of  universities  to  confer.  More  than 
once  that  first  winter,  I  stood  in  line  to  get 
a  job  shovelling  snow.  I  slept  in  the  station 
house,  in  the  streets,  in  all-night  joints  in 
the  worst  parts  of  town.  In  the  spring,  I 
started  tramping.  That  was  the  year  that  I 
first  met  Frisco  Cig,  a  mere  kid  who  had 
already  crossed  the  continent  twice.  I 
crossed  it  several  times  before  I  was  through, 
and  seldom  did  I  pay  railroad  fare.  I  worked 
in  the  harvest  field  a  couple  of  summers ;  in 
the  pine  woods  one  winter;  I  went  through 
a  good  part  of  Mexico  with  a  surveying  party 
— there's  the  place  where  Mike's  police  tal 
ents  would  be  appreciated.  I  worked  on 
newspapers  in  several  cities,  always  doing 
police.  I  could  write  some,  or  thought  I 
could,  and  my  knowledge  of  the  Under  World 
made  me  worth  a  pretty  fair  wage.  But 
I  always  quarrelled  and  quit,  or  got  insub 
ordinate  and  was  fired. 

"Finally,  I  took  a  resolve  which  I  still 

290 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

think  was  rather  good,  especially  since  I 
kept  it.  I  had  learned  that  the  thing  I  most 
lacked  was  discipline.  Very  well,  I  would  get 
that  discipline.  I  went  to  the  nearest  re 
cruiting  office,  enlisted  as  a  private  soldier 
under  an  assumed  name,  and  served  three 
years.  You  can  judge  how  effective  the  dis 
cipline  was  when  I  tell  you  that  I  saved  almost 
all  my  last  year's  pay, and  that  I  left  the  army 
a  non-commissioned  officer.  I  came  out,  proud 
of  myself,  and  confident  of  my  future.  I  was 
a  man,  now,  not  a  boy ;  a  man  who  had  learned 
to  bide  his  time,  keep  his  temper,  and  stick 
to  his  work.  I  bought  my  ticket  for  Water- 
vliet,  intending  to  go  home  for  pleasure  and 
counsel;  and  then  to  make  my  serious  start 
in  the  world.  I  got  home  at  eleven  o'clock 
one  forenoon.  My  father  had  shot  himself 
the  night  before. ' ' 

It  was  the  end  of  a  page;  and  the  two 
readers  pushed  back  from  the  table  by  a 
common  impulse,  and  rose  to  their  feet.  "See 
here,"  said  the  managing  editor.  "There's 
no  use  in  making  this  public.  We  can  fix 
things  without  that."  He  lighted  his  cigar 
with  a  hand  not  quite  so  steady  as  usual,  and 
sat  down  again.  Landis  followed. 

"The    bank   was    skinned.     Part    of   the 

291 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

money  had  been  loaned  to  Harteley,  always 
through  dummy  accounts,  on  that  old  gas 
stock  as  security.  Part  of  it  had  been  spent 
buying  the  same  stock  at  twenty  times  the 
value  it  ever  had.  When  the  bubble  broke, 
the  bank  broke,  too.  It's  an  old  story. 

"At  the  time,  I  did  not  know  Harteley 's 
part  in  the  deal.  The  accounts  were  run 
through  dummies,  as  I  said.  At  first,  I  held 
my  father  solely  responsible;  and  suspected 
that  he  had  done  the  wise  thing  in  killing 
himself.  The  bank  went  into  the  hands  of  a 
receiver.  I  took  hold  of  outside  affairs,  and 
straightened  them  up  as  well  as  I  could.  We 
turned  over  to  the  receiver  all  of  father's 
property — his  stock  farm,  his  personal  be 
longings,  his  library — everything.  My  mother 
even  put  in  her  few  pieces  of  jewelry.  My 
sister  had  married  during  my  army  term. 
Her  husband  is  a  splendid,  loyal  chap,  with 
old-fashioned  notions  of  honesty.  When  the 
smash  came,  he  gave  the  receiver  a  check 
for  the  amount  of  my  sister's  dowry,  sold 
his  property  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  moved 
away.  I  had  already  taken  my  mother,  and 
disappeared — went  to  New  Orleans  and  be 
gan  work  on  a  newspaper.  The  Winthrop 
family  was  simply  effaced  from  Watervliet. 

292 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"I  have  said  that  at  the  time  I  did  not 
know  Harteley's  part  in  the  case.  If  I  had, 
I  should  probably  have  taken  the  first  train 
west,  killed  him  on  sight,  and  had  the  job 
over  with.  Before  affairs  were  straightened 
out  enough  to  let  us  move  away,  I  had  learned 
of  Harteley's  connection  with  the  matter;  but 
that  was  about  all.  I  was  still  blaming  my 
father,  and  counting  Harteley  an  accomplice 
at  the  worst.  I  found  father's  counterpart 
to  the  Harteley  cypher  notebook;  but  the 
library  was  already  sold,  and  I  finally  burned 
the  cypher  without  being  able  to  read  it. 
But  when  my  mother  died  about  four  years 
ago,  I  found  some  letters  and  memoranda 
which  she  had  neglected  to  destroy.  I  read 
them,  sized  up  the  case;  then  looked  up 
father's  old  cashier,  and  made  him  tell  me 
the  whole  story.  He  had  lost  everything  in 
the  smash,  but  he  was  living  comfortably  in 
a  small  way  in  another  town — on  Harteley's 
money.  I  didn't  blame  him  much.  He  had 
done  nothing  to  bring  on  the  wreck;  and  it 
was  hardly  a  crime  to  sell  his  silence  after 
wards  for  enough  to  keep  him  alive.  But  I 
do  blame  him  for  telling  Harteley  that  young 
Winthrop  had  come  to  life,  and  was  on  the 
trail ;  though  that  didn  't  matter  much,  either. 

293 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

The  witness  of  the  Bcarf-pin. 

I  got  the  truth  out  of  the  old 
cashier,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  Harteley 
must  be  punished.  He  had  betrayed  a  sacred 
trust,  he  had  brought  ruin  and  disgrace  to 
those  who  had  befriended  him,  he  had  com 
mitted  murder  as  truly  as  if  he  had  fired  the 
shot  that  ended  my  father's  life.  I  felt  that 
such  a  scoundrel  must  pay  the  penalty;  and 
I  knew  that  I  must  personally  enforce  pay 
ment.  There  was  no  use  in  going  to  the 
courts.  I  had  neither  the  money  nor  the 
evidence  for  a  legal  prosecution ;  and  besides, 
there  was  no  legal  penalty  which  would  fit 
the  crime.  By  every  tie  of  blood  and  every 
principle  of  fair  play,  I  felt  in  duty  bound 
to  take  Harteley 's  life,  to  balance  with  his 
blood  the  loaded  scales  of  justice. 

"I  feel  much  the  same  way  yet.  But  I 
have  learned  that  the  path  of  duty  is  not  the 
clear,  straight  road  which  it  then  appeared 
to  be;  and  that  the  unofficial  avenger  has  a 
lot  which  no  criminal  need  envy. 

'  *  To  get  myeelf  hanged  or  imprisoned  for 

294 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

what  I  felt  to  be  an  act  of  righteousness  would 
be  not  only  unpleasant,  but  foolish.  Strategy 
was  essential;  and  I  held  a  strong  strategic 
position.  I  had  always  been  clean  shaven, 
and  my  eyesight  was  and  is  perfect.  Now, 
I  dropped  out  of  sight — an  easy  thing  to  do 
for  one  who  knows  the  levels  underneath  into 
which  he  is  to  fall — grew  a  beard,  put  on 
spectacles,  and  even  took  elocution  lessons 
in  the  hope  of  changing  my  voice.  This  last 
experiment  was  not  very  successful;  but  I 
have  noticed  that  few  persons  can  identify 
a  voice  if  the  face  and  the  manner  of  speech 
are  different  from  those  they  once  knew.  In 
all  this  you  will  note  the  patient  discipline 
that  came  from  my  army  experience;  and  I 
hope  you  will  credit  me  with  the  steadfast 
ness  of  an  honestly  held  purpose  as  well. 

"When  I  came  to  the  city  where  you  are 
reading  this  story,  and  got  a  job  on  the  Star, 
it  was  with  the  full  expectation  of  settling 
with  Harteley,  and  getting  away  again,  in 
side  of  six  months.  But  it  didn't  work  that 
way.  I  have  a  deep  rooted,  illogical  dislike 
to  killing  anything — doubly  illogical  in  one 
who  has  been  a  soldier.  I  couldn't  forgive 
Harteley;  but  I  found  myself  putting  off 
from  month  to  month  the  date  of  his  punish- 

295 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

ment.  I  flattered  myself  that  by  waiting,  I 
might  be  able  to  force  Harteley  to  set  my 
father's  memory  right  before  the  world.  But 
it  was  mere  self  deceit,  and  I  knew  it.  I  was 
simply  reluctant  to  take  the  decisive  step. 
For  the  better  part  of  three  years,  I  was  that 
creature  which  I  most  despise — a  grown  man 
who  doesn't  know  his  own  mind.  Is  it  any 
wonder,  Mr.  Jennings,  that  my  temper  was 
sometimes  saw-edged? 

' '  Still,  I  studied  the  case  very  carefully.  I 
had  long  noticed  that  when  a  murder  is  com 
mitted  with  a  weapon  picked  up  on  the  spot, 
the  difficulty  of  finding  the  criminal  is  greatly 
increased.  I  had  also  noticed — who  could  help 
it? — that  as  a  machine  for  law  enforcement, 
the  police  system  of  this  country  is  just  an 
expensive  joke.  In  three  cities  out  of  four, 
the  police  force  is  regularly  allied  with  the 
franchise  grabbers  above,  with  the  dive 
keepers  below,  or,  as  in  the  city  where  you 
are  reading  this  story,  with  both.  And  a 
police  force  which  is  commissioned  to  stuff 
ballot  boxes,  pack  city  councils,  steal  fran 
chises,  and  collect  the  dirty  money  of  the 
tenderloin,  is  too  busy  to  spare  much  energy 
for  the  unprofitable  work  of  detecting  crime. 
It  has  work  which  pays  it  better.  Let  me 

296 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

add  that  the  sheer  police  brutality  of  which 
Mike  Kennedy  is  so  perfect  an  exponent  is 
itself  a  protection  to  any  law  breaker  who  has 
wit  enough  to  keep  out  of  the  reach  of  such 
brutality.  So  long  as  the  third  degree  is 
allowed,  so  long  will  the  men  who  use  the 
third  degree  most  ruthlessly  come  to  the 
front  in  police  circles;  and  so  long  will  the 
thinking  lawbreaker  and  the  stubborn  law 
breaker  go  free. 

"There  are  four  general  ways  of  fogging 
up  a  murder  case.  One  is  to  make  the  death 
seem  natural  or  accidental.  This  is  often 
tried,  is  sometimes  successfully  tried;  but  it 
was  of  no  use  to  me.  It  implies  either  poison 
or  accomplices.  I  had  a  prejudice  against 
the  one,  and  a  well  grounded  distrust  of  the 
other. 

"Another  way  is  to  arrange  the  crime  that 
it  looks  like  suicide.  This  again  was  of  no 
use  in  my  case.  Harteley  was  healthy,  suc 
cessful,  in  love  with  life;  full  of  vitality  and 
empty  of  conscience  or  remorse.  You 
couldn't  imagine  him  killing  himself  while 
there  was  anyone  else  to  kill — or  cheat. 

"A  third  way  is  so  to  lay  your  'plant'  that 
it  points  to  some  other  person  who  may  be 
supposed  to  have  some  reason  for  doing  the 

297 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

job.  This  kind  of  'stall'  is  very  common  in 
some  walks  of  the  criminal  trade.  I  used  to 
know  a  burglar  who  always  fixed  his  jobs 
so  that  they  seemed  to  implicate  his  brother 
artisans.  He  once  bragged  to  me  that  there 
were  three  men  doing  time  for  tricks  that 
he  had  turned  alone.  He  could  fool  the  police, 
but  he  couldn't  fool  his  fellow  craftsmen ;  and 
not  long  after,  one  of  them  cut  him  into  so 
many  pieces  that  the  coroner  could  scarcely 
get  the  remains  together  for  the  inquest. 
Aside  from  this  very  obvious  objection,  I 
disliked  the  third  plan  on  general  principles. 
I  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  putting  my 
sins  on  other  men's  shoulders,  and  I  didn't 
care  to  begin. 

*  *  There  remained  the  fourth  plan.  This  is 
merely  to  do  the  work  in  such  wise  as  to 
leave  the  fewest  possible  clues,  and  these 
vague  ones ;  and  to  provide  an  alibi  for  one's 
self  in  case  of  emergencies.  The  alibi  busi 
ness,  indeed,  is  the  most  thriving  branch  of 
the  criminal  profession,  as  our  friend  Stan- 
nard  of  the  Brotherhood  could  tell  you,  if 
he  chose.  Not  caring  to  go  to  the  risk  and 
bother  of  allying  myself  with  one  of  the 
established  perjury  mills,  and  of  course  not 
having  the  means  to  establish  a  mill  of  my 

298 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

own,  I  was  forced  to  take  other  measures. 
They  proved  to  be  quite  effectual  ones. 

"To  say  that  I  studied  Mr.  Harteley 's 
habits  is  to  underrate  my  diligence.  I 
watched  him  in  his  goings  and  in  his  comings 
in;  I  dug  into  his  business  and  personal  re 
lations  till  I  knew  him  a  deal  better — and 
worse — than  did  his  wife.  I  found  very  early 
that  Harteley  had  turned  several  other  tricks 
like  that  which  had  driven  my  father  to 
suicide.  But  these  were  in  the  past;  his 
behavior  for  the  moment  was  financially 
irreproachable.  I  wondered  for  a  time 
whether  the  suicide  of  his  old  classmate  had 
not  touched  his  better  nature.  The  specula 
tion  merely  shows  how  eager  I  was  for  ex 
cuses  to  shirk  my  self-appointed  task.  Harte 
ley  was  decent  merely  because  there  was  no 
present  reason  for  his  being  anything  else, 
and  perhaps  because  the  cashier's  report  to 
him  of  the  inquiries  I  had  made  may  have 
roused  apprehensions. 

' 'At  last  came  the  franchise  fight ;  and  then 
I  was  altogether  too  busy  to  find  time  to 
attend  to  Harteley.  But  I  still  found  time 
to  study  him,  and  chuckled  a  bit  when  the 
lady  of  adventure  came  on  from  St.  Louis, 
and  settled  down  to  the  task  of  relieving 

299 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

Harteley  of  his  surplus  cash.  I  went  through 
the  whole  franchise  campaign,  saw  Harteley 's 
utter  dishonesty ;  and  saw — what  no  one  else 
noted — that  in  the  excitement  of  that  struggle 
he  had  gained  back  all  his  old-time  ruth- 
lessness  and  arrogance.  You  may  remember 
that  I  frequently  interviewed  him;  and  that 
at  last  I  was  the  only  Star  man  who  could 
get  an  interview  with  him.  The  reason  is 
simple.  I  had  managed  to  drop  a  remark 
about  a  young  man  I  had  known,  the  son  of 
a  country  banker  who  had  killed  himself  when 
the  bank  broke. 

" Harteley  was  interested  at  once;  and  I 
did  not  tell  him  enough  to  lessen  that  in 
terest.  I  had  known  the  young  man  in  San 
Francisco,  but  he  had  left  for  parts  un 
known  before  I  came  away.  How  did  he  look? 
I  gave  a  vague  description.  How  much  had 
he  told  me?  I  countered  by  asking  Harteley 
why  he  was  so  interested  in  the  case.  He 
did  not  tell  me,  then.  I  was  working  on  the 
newspaper  that  was  fighting  him,  and  I  sup 
pose  he  thought  the  first  use  I  would  make 
of  such  a  story  would  be  as  a  thriller  on  the 
first  page. 

''But  he  could  not  keep  away  from  the 
subject.  Almost  every  time  I  interviewed 

300 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

him  he  had  some  question  to  ask  about  this 
young  man  and  his  antecedents.  When  the 
franchise  fight  was  over,  he  opened  negotia 
tions  more  specifically.  He  told  me  some 
fiction  about  a  'friend'  of  his  who  had  some 
reason  to  be  afraid  of  that  boy.  I  laughed 
at  him,  and  asked  to  meet  his  'friend';  and 
again  he  backed  away  from  the  subject.  He 
was  studying  me  quite  as  hard  as  I  had 
studied  him,  but  without  the  same  advan 
tages.  He  tried  to  buy  me  off  on  two  or 
three  stories;  but  I  was  virtuously  loyal  to 
my  employers.  The  day  I  went  to  get  his 
statement  on  the  note-book  business,  he  tried 
to  buy  me  off  again.  Failing  in  that,  he  told 
me  he  had  a  job  for  me  worth  a  great  deal 
more  than  the  Star  could  pay,  and  made  an 
appointment  to  meet  me  at  the  office  Sunday 
morning,  at  ten  o'clock. 

"I  didn't  get  to  the  office  at  ten.  Why,  I 
can  hardly  say:  for  I  went  to  the  interview 
intending  to  tell  Harteley  who  I  was,  to  force 
him  to  write  a  statement  exonerating  my 
father  from  the  worst  of  the  blame,  and  then 
to  let  him  go.  At  least,  that  was  my  surface 
intention.  But  our  lives  are  in  many  layers. 
It  may  have  been  a  deeper  purpose  than  I 
knew,  or  it  may  have  been  mere  automatism, 

301 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

that  made  me  adhere  to  my  plans  for  an 
alibi.  At  twenty  minutes  after  ten,  I  was 
setting  my  watch  by  that  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  restaurant  where  I  had  breakfasted; 
and  remarking  that  I  would  take  a  walk  out 
to  the  park.  I  started  toward  the  park,  met 
two  men  I  knew,  squarely  in  front  of  the 
Tramway  Building,  stated  my  parkward  in 
tentions  once  more ;  and  then  turned  around 
the  corner  and  climbed  the  side  stairs  unseen. 
"Harteley  was  waiting,  in  a  bad  humor  at 
the  delay.  He  came  to  the  point  at  once, 
evidently  convinced  that  evasion  was  useless. 
He  wanted  me  to  look  up  the  son  of  that 
country  banker — adding  the  unintentional 
compliment  that  a  large  detective  agency  had 
quite  failed  to  find  the  man.  Would  I  take 
the  job  ?  I  would ;  provided  he  made  it  worth 
my  while ;  and  provided  further  that  no  harm 
was  intended  to  the  young  man.  He  would 
have  to  state  the  case,  and  let  me  judge  for 
myself.  He  stated  the  case  with  a  cynical 
frankness  almost  past  belief.  He  described 
my  father  as  a  'come-on,'  a  'sucker,'  and 
more  of  the  same  sort,  whose  money  properly 
belonged  to  anyone  who  could  get  hold  of  it. 
He  spoke  of  the  unknown  son  as  doubtless 
a  worthless  whelp,  whose  whereabouts,  how- 

302 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

ever,  it  was  desirable  to  know.  I  stood  this 
in  silence.  But  when  he  began  to  tell  me  how 
to  begin  the  work  of  buying  the  son's  satis 
faction  with  the  father's  suicide,  I  jumped 
up. 

"  'Mr.  Harteley,'  I  said,  'I  am  the  son  of 
Edgar  Winthrop.  I  came  here  to  kill  you. 
Will  you  write  out  and  sign  a  statement  of 
the  facts  about  your  relations  with  my  father, 
just  as  you  have  told  it  to  me,  or  shall  I  carry 
out  my  first  intention  ? ' 

"I  will  say  this  for  the  scoundrel,  he  had 
nerve.  He  was  sitting  in  his  swivel  chair 
at  the  desk;  I  was  in  the  visitor's  chair,  with 
the  table  in  reach  at  my  right.  The  dagger 
paper  cutter  was  on  that  table ;  I  had  noticed 
it  as  I  came  in,  and  had  placed  my  hat  so 
as  to  hide  the  dagger  from  Harteley.  A 
smaller,  more  ornate  knife  was  lying  on  the 
top  of  his  desk.  He  went  pale  when  I  spoke — 
anyone  would.  He  looked  me  in  the  eye  for  a 
moment  to  see  if  I  meant  what  I  said,  then 
glanced  down  at  my  pockets.  I  could  follow 
his  thoughts  as  if  they  had  been  my  own. 
He  believed  himself  stronger  than  I,  he  had 
weapons  within  reach,  unless  I  had  a  re 
volver  ready,  he  thought  he  had  the  best  of 
it.  I  shall  always  admire  the  way  he  tested 

303 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

the  question  of  the  revolver.  He  looked  back 
from  my  pockets  to  my  face.  'Forgot  your 
gun,  didn't  you?'  he  sneered. 

"  'I  don't  need  a  gun,'  I  answered;  and 
then  everything  happened  at  once.  He 
jumped  to  his  feet,  calling  me  a  vile  name, 
and  grabbing  for  the  knife  on  top  of  the 
desk.  Before  he  could  reach  it,  I  sent  a 
hard  left  to  his  jaw,  and  as  he  toppled,  I 
caught  the  paper  cutter  and  drove  it  home 
with  my  right.  I  held  it  sword  fashion,  which 
accounts  for  the  upward  direction  of  the 
thrust.  He  swept  his  hands  forward,  as  a 
stabbed  man  will,  and  one  of  his  knuckles 
collided  with  the  desk.  You  may  remember 
my  calling  the  attention  of  the  police  to  that 
damaged  knuckle. 

"I  caught  the  body  as  it  slipped  to  the 
floor,  and  steadied  it  down  to  avoid  the  noise 
of  the  fall.  There  was  risk  of  getting  blood 
on  my  clothes  in  this  work ;  but  I  could  have 
explained  that  by  a  convenient  attack  of  nose- 
bleeding  in  some  public  place.  I  had  let  go 
the  dagger  the  moment  it  was  well  home, 
however,  and  there  was  very  little  bleeding. 
Shriek?  A  stunned  man  doesn't  shriek,  no 
matter  what  happens  to  him.  That  was  one 
object  in  reaching  for  his  jaw. 

304 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

"Then  began  the  work  of  fogging  up  the 
case.  I  took  Harteley's  watch,  turned  it  back 
to  the  time  at  which  I  was  in  the  restaurant, 
broke  the  stem,  and  placed  it  directly  under 
the  body.  I  went  through  Harteley's  pockets. 
He  had  two  dollars  and  sixty  cents  in  change, 
and  twenty-five  dollars  in  bills.  I  took  his 
rings  and  his  diamond  horseshoe  pin — for 
that  was  the  pin  he  wore  that  morning.  I 
made  a  hasty  search  of  the  safe,  looking  for 
papers  which  might  throw  further  light  on 
Harteley's  transactions  with  my  father,  and 
carried  away  the  contents  of  that  manila 
envelope.  It  wasn't  worth  taking,  it  was  only 
the  report  of  some  private  detective  who  had 
tried  to  find  me  and  failed.  Harteley  had 
opened  the  window  before  I  came,  but  just 
for  good  measure,  I  tipped  over  the  waste- 
basket.  I  looked  for  bloodmarks  on  my 
clothes,  and  found  none.  Then  I  went  to  the 
front  door,  and  listened.  Everything  was 
quiet.  I  slipped  out  without  being  seen,  went 
down  the  side  way,  and  after  watching  a 
second  from  the  stairs,  went  out  on  the  street 
and  headed  for  the  park.  All  told,  I  had  been 
in  Harteley's  office  a  little  over  twenty 
minutes. 

"What  happened  afterward,  you  know  as 

20  305 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

well  as  I.  The  hardest  thing  to  me  was  the 
one  which  I  had  not  foreseen — or  rather  had 
not  realized,  the  brutal  mistreatment  which 
my  act  brought  upon  the  helpless  Under 
World.  Aside  from  that,  I  was  wholly  un 
troubled  by  the  activities  of  the  police.  Not 
the  faintest  suspicion  ever  came  my  way. 
Even  when  Billy  Brown  and  his  dear  friend 
Fingy  went  through  me  that  night,  they  were 
looking  for  a  clue  to  catch  someone  else,'  a 
clue  which  they  thought  I  had  found  that 
day  in  the  office.  It  was  the  blonde  lady  who 
started  them  on  that  scent.  She  had  recog 
nized  me  when  I  went  to  recover  the  love 
letters  of  a  street  car  president.  She  made 
very  plain  her  belief  that  I  was  hiding  from 
some  penalty  or  other,  and  that  my  past  was 
a  bar  to  any  aspirations  I  might  entertain 
now.  But  I  do  not  believe  she  guessed  the 
truth,  nor  any  part  of  it. 

''And  you  know,  too,  how  my  punishment 
found  me,  in  spite  of  the  blindness  of  the 
law.  You  know  how,  in  my  own  despite,  I 
came  to  love  the  daughter  of  the  man  I  had 
killed,  the  woman  whose  father  had  killed  my 
father.  So  far  as  Harteley's  personal  rights 
and  feelings  are  concerned,  I  have  not  the 
slightest  regret;  but  the  pain  I  have  caused 

306 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

his  daughter  will  haunt  me  to  the  last  hour 
of  my  life.  For  her  sake,  I  trust  you  will 
keep  this  letter  a  secret  if  you  can.  If  some 
one  else  is  charged  with  the  killing,  and  there 
is  no  other  way  of  saving  him,  this  statement 
is  for  use.  Otherwise,  I  hope  Jeannette 
Harteley  will  never  know  that  the  man  who 
tried  so  hard  to  be  her  friend,  the  man  who 
would  have  risked  anything  in  her  service, 
was  the  man  who  executed  her  father. 

"One  word  more  before  coming  to  the 
proofs  of  this  story.  By  this  time,  you  must 
have  noticed  the  absence  of  Billy  Brown. 
He  followed  me  from  the  city,  intending, 
of  course,  to  make  good  his  threat  in  the 
courtroom.  I  was  wondering  how  to  elude 
him  when  fate  threw  Red  Heinze  across  my 
path.  You  know  what  sort  of  thug  Eed  is, 
and  you  remember  the  sweating  he  once  en 
dured  at  the  hands  of  Billy  and  Mike.  Billy 
followed  me  one  night  into  the  haunts  occu 
pied  by  Red  Heinze.  If  Mike  has  any  can 
didate  for  the  job  of  chief  of  detectives,  there 
is  really  no  reason  for  keeping  the  man  wait 
ing. 

"And  now  for  the  proofs.  You  have  them, 
Mr.  Landis.  That  little  package  I  asked  you 
to  keep  in  your  safe  contains  the  money  and 

307 


THE  SCALES  OF  JUSTICE 

jewels  I  took  from  Harteley's  person.    Take 

them " 

Both  men  sat  suddenly  upright.  The 
editor's  eyes  were  moist  with  sympathy;  the 
lawyer's  eyes  were  wide  with  utter  wonder. 
He  hurried  to  the  safe,  and  came  back  with 
the  little  package.  His  fingers  fumbled  vainly 
at  the  string,  and  Jennings  leaned  over  with 
a  knife.  The  wrappings  were  hastily  un 
wound,  and  the  little  pasteboard  box  was 
opened.  Inside  was  a  layer  of  cotton.  Be 
low  this  were  the  bills,  folded  flat,  the  rings 
and  silver,  duly  wrapped;  while  glittering 
in  the  centre  lay  the  long-sought  diamond 
horseshoe. 


THE  END 


"E  A  SILT    THE    BOOK    OF    THE    DAT" 

San  Francisco  Argonaut 

Routledge  Rides  Alone 

By  WILL  LEVINGTON  COMFORT 

COLORED  FRONTISPIECE  BY  MARTIN  JUSTICE 
12MO.     CLOTH,  WITH  INLAY  IN  COLORS,  $1.50 

HERE  is   a    tale    indeed — big    and    forceful,    palpitating  with 
interest,    and    written  with    the  sureness  of  touch  and  the 
breadth  of  a  man  who  is  master  of  his  art.      Mr.  Comfort 
has  drawn  upon  two  practically  new  story-places  in  the  world  of 
fiction  to  furnish  the  scenes  for  his  narrative — India  and  Manchuria 
at  the  time  of  the  Russo-Japanese  War.       While  the  novel  is  dis 
tinguished  by  its  clear  and  vigorous  war  scenes,  the  fine  and  sweet 
romance  of  the  love  of  the  hero,    Routledge  — a  brave,  strange, 
and  talented  American — for  the   "most  beautiful  woman  in  Lon 
don  "  rivals  these  in  interest. 

The  story  opens  in  London,  sweeps  up  and  down  Asia,  and 
reaches  its  most  rousing  pitch  on  the  ghastly  field  of  Liaoyang,  in 
Manchuria.  The  one-hundred-mile  race  from  the  field  to  a  free 
cable  outside  the  war  zone,  between  Routledge  and  an  English 
war  correspondent,  is  as  exciting  and  enthralling  as  anything  that 
has  appeared  in  fiction  in  recent  years. 

"A  big,  vital,  forceful  story  that  towers  giant-high — a  romance  to  lure  the 
hours  away  in  tense  interest — a  book  with  a  message  for  all  mankind.*' 

Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Three  such  magnificent  figures  as  Routledge,  Noreen,  and  Rawder  never 
before  have  appeared  together  in  fiction.  Take  it  all  in  all,  '  Routledge  Rides 
Alone'  is  a  great  novel,  full  of  sublime  conception,  one  of  the  few  novels  that 
are  as  ladders  from  heaven  to  earth. ' ' — San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

"The  story  unfolds  a  vast  and  vivid  panorama  cf  life.  The  first  chapters 
remind  one  strongly  of  the  descriptive  Kipling  we  once  knew.  We  commend  the 
book  for  its  sustained  interest.  We  recommend  it  for  its  descriptive  power." 

— Boston  Evening  Transcript. 

"  Here  is  one  of  the  strongest  novels  of  the  year ;  a  happy  blending  of 
romance  and  realism,  vivid,  imaginative,  dramatic,  and,  above  all,  a  well  told  story 
with  a  purpose.  It  is  a  red-blooded  story  of  war  and  love,  with  a  touch  of  the 
mysticism  of  India,  some  world  politics,  love  of  country,  and  hate  of  oppression — • 
a  tale  of  clean  and  expert  workmanship,  powerful  and  personal." 

— Pittsburg  Dispatch. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


A   NOVEL  OF    COMPELLING    INTEREST 

The  Heart  of  Desire 

By  ELIZABETH  DEJEANS 

Author  of  "The  Winning  Chance," 

WITH  COLORED  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  THE  KINNEYS 
12MO.     CLOTH,  $1.50 


A  remarkable  novel,  full  of  vital  force,  which  gives  us 
a  glimpse  into  the  innermost  sanctuary  of  a  woman's 
soul — a  revelation  of  the  truth  that  to  a  woman  there  may 
be  a  greater  thing  than  the  love  of  a  man — the  story  pict 
ured  against  a  wonderful  Southern   California  background. 

"One  of  the  big  headliners  in  bookland." — Detroit  News. 

"The  book  is  a  tissue  of  mysteries,  quite  apart  from  the  ordi 
nary  usages,  but  solved  in  the  end  satisfactorily." 

—  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  One  of  those  rare  examples  of  literary  composition  the  artistic 
excellence  of  which  is  uniform  and  even  throughout." 

—  Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"There  is  color,  vitality,  and  freshness  in  the  picture,  and 
charming  variety  of  detail  in  the  development  of  story.  Horton 
is  the  ideal  lover,  strong-hearted,  wilful,  persevering  ;  and  Kate 
is  the  vivid,  tantalizing,  impersonal  creature  in  an  armor  of  secrecy. 
But  the  author  transforms  this  woman  into  a  being  of  rarest  and 
most  beautiful  human  qualities — or  rather,  brings  those  latent  emo 
tions  to  the  fore.  She  is  a  woman  racked  by  grief  over  death  and 
unhappy  marital  experiences  in  youth,  and,  later,  a  woman  'lied 
to,  tortured,  duped,  and  her  heart  polluted  and  desecrated '  ;  and 
in  giving  up  her  beloved  lawyer-friend,  whom  she  would  have 
married,  to  the  '  helpless,  motherless,  hampered '  child  who  so 
passionately  claimed  his  love,  Kate's  humanism  stands  out  in  almost 
supernatural  power." — Boston  Evening  Transcript. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


A  SPIRITED  ROMANCE    OF  ELIZABETH'S  COURT 


Raleigh 


By  WM.   DEVEREUX  and  STEPHEN    LOVELL 

Founded  upon  their  successful  play,    "Sir  Walter  Raleigh,"   tbt  Ait  of 
the  iqog-io  London  theatrical  season. 


Eight  half-tone  illustrations  showing  scenes  from  the  play.      i2mo. 
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BRISK,  breezy,  adventurous,  this  novel  succeeds 
in  presenting  its  great  protagonist,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  in  all  the  capacities  with  which  the 
popular  imagination  is  wont  to  identify  him.  Here 
we  see  him  smoking  his  first  pipe,  in  his  fine  half-tim 
bered  hall ;  here  he  spreads  his  cloak  before  the  haughty 
feet  of  good  Queen  Bess;  here,  again,  he  joins  in  mortal 
combat  with  a  rival  worthy  of  his  steel.  With  some 
thing  of  the  vigorous  brush  of  William  Harrison  Ains- 
worth,  Mr.  Devereux  and  his  clever  collaborator  dash 
in  their  spirited  color,  and  the  dialogue  keeps  a  merry 
pace,  unflagging  and  alert. 

"  Spirited  and  wholesome." — Boston  Evening   Transcript. 

"The   frankest  revelation  of  Elizabeth's  peculiar  character  in  modem 
literature." — St.  Louis  Post  Dispatch. 

"It  is  Raleigh  the  courtier,  the   politician,  Raleigh  the  most  elegant 
gentleman  of  Elizabeth's  court,  that  is  pictured  here." 

— Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"As  a  romance  the  story  is  entitled  to  rank  with  the  best  of  Stanley 
Weyman's  novels,  while  its  historic  worth  is  far  greater." 

—  Twentieth  Century  Magazine. 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


ROBERT  HICHENS*  GREATEST  NOVEL 

BELLA  DONNA 

Again  Robert  Hichens  has  taken  his  reader  to  Northern 
Africa.  This  time  to  the  Nile  Valley  and  its  sands,  its 
rocky  wilderness  and  the  ruins  of  millenniums.  Here  his 
rich  imagination  has  developed  one  of  those  Anglo-Oriental 
romances  in  the  weaving  of  which  he  has  proved  himself 
a  past-master.  Again  the  reader  may  enjoy  the  vivid 
coloring  of  his  pen  pictures  of  the  desert.  His  descriptive 
powers  have  lost  none  of  their  force. 

As  in  "The  Garden  of  Allah,"  we  have  in  Mr. 
Hichens'  new  novel  the  mystery  of  the  Orient,  idealism, 
romance,  the  great  expanse  of  the  desert.  Northern  Africa 
is  the  scene  of  "  Bella  Donna" — the  valley  of  the  Nile,  its 
rocks  and  ruins  and  sandy  wastes,  form  its  background. 
The  story  deals  with  the  conflict  of  an  earthly  woman  and 
a  man  of  ideals — a  woman  who  loves  the  material  pleasures 
of  the  earth  and  knows  nothing  about  "  conscience  "  and 
"soul,"  while  the  man,  her  direct  opposite,  looks  into 
material  matters  for  the  spiritual  and  ideal. 

"It  is  Egypt  as  'Kim'  is  India." — New  York  Times. 

"  A  remarkable  piece  of  work,  as  noteworthy  in  its  way 

as  '  The  Garden  of  Allah '  or  '  The  Call  of  the  Blood.'  " 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Such  a  novel — substantial,  powerful,  overwhelming 
in  its  inevitable  climax — as  comes  to  the  public  only  once 
or  so  in  a  decade." — Sf.  Louis  Globe- Democrat. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  best  novels  we  have  ever  read,  and 
quite  the  best  that  Mr.  Robert  Hichens  has  written.  It 
combines  the  two  elements  of  which  every  good  novel 
ought  to  be  composed,  subtle  analysis  of  character  and  an 
exciting  plot." — Saturday  Review,  London, 

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A  NEW   SPARKLING    ROMANCE 

The  Woman  in  Question 

By  JOHN  REED  SCOTT 

Author  of  "The   Colonel  of  the  Red  Huzzars,"  "The  Princess  Dekra," 
and  " Beatrix  of  Clare" 

THREE  FULL-PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BY  CLARENCE  F.    UNDERWOOD 

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"  The  Woman  in  Question1'  is  a  romance,  but  not  of 
Valeria  nor  mediaeval  England.  Mr.  Scott  has  remained 
home  in  America,  and  the  scenes  are  laid  in  the  Eastern 
United  States.  The  story  is  distinctly  modern  in  tone  and 
theme,  and  centers  in  and  around  Fairlawn  Hall,  an  old 
mansion  with  a  marvellous  garden,  lying  on  the  outskirts  of 
Egerton,  where  the  new  master  has  come  with  a  party  of 
friends — to  find  mystery,  misfortune,  and  love  awaiting  him. 

Mr.  Scott  shows  steady  improvement  in  each  succeeding 
novel,  and  he  has  planned  this  latest  story  well,  filling  it 
with  many  surprises  and  dramatic  moments. 

"  The  story  has  dash  and  venre." 

— Nciv  York  Times  Saturday  Rc-vieiu  of  Books. 

"There  are  few  heroines  in  latter-day  American  fiction  comparable 
with  charming  Mildred  Gascoyne." — Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  The  dialogue  is  bright  and  sparkling,  the  characters  interesting,  and 
the  plot  sufficiently  exciting.  The  woman  in  question,  young,  beautiful, 
and  spirited,  is  involved  in  mystery,  the  unfolding  of  which  introduces 
some  thrilling  episodes." — Boston  Evening  Transcript, 


].  B.  LIPPINCOTT  CO.  ISSSSSSSl 


"A  Powerful  Portrayal  of  the  Strongest  Passions" 

IN  AMBUSH 

By  MARIE  VAN  VORST 

Author  of  "  The  Sin  of  George  Warrentr?'  etc 

A  striking  novel  of  adventure,  mystery,  and  romance,  with 
varied  change  of  scene.  The  story  opens  in  an  Alaskan  mining 
camp,  then  moves  to  Egypt,  'where  a  stirring  battle  between  the 
British  and  the  wild  tribes  of  the  Sudan  is  depicted,  and  finally 
returns  to  this  country  and  Kentucky.  Miss  Van  Vorst  has  done 
the  unusual  in  making  her  hero  a  man  with  an  unsavory  past,  but 
whose  redemption  and  repentance  are  so  sincere  the  sympathy  and 
admiration  of  the  reader  are  completely  with  him. 

"  Full  of  incidents  of  a  strong  and  stirring  nature  which 
will  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  strongly  exercised." 

— New  York  Sun. 

I2mo.     Decorated  cloth,  $1.50. 


"A  Stirring  Story  of  Conspiracy" 

THE  MAN  m  the  TOWER 

By  RUPERT  S.  HOLLAND 

Author  of"  The  Count  at  Harvard,"  etc. 

A  dramatic  story  based  upon  the  legend  of  "  the  invisible 
prince,"  John  Christian  XX,  Prince  of  Athelstein,  whose  throne 
was  stolen  from  him  by  the  regent  while  he  was  forced  into  banish 
ment.  The  narrative  tells  how  the  prince  played  a  winning  game 
in  thwarting  the  conspirator  by  marrying  the  very  princess  whom 
the  regent  was  depending  upon  for  the  carrying  out  his  nefarious 
schemes. 

"  He  handles  his  plot  of  mystery  and  surprise  with  infinite 
discretion.  And  he  sweeps  us  along  with  him  from  cover  to 
cover  without  a  diminution  of  interest.'' 

— Boston  Evening  transcript. 


FRONTISPIECE    IN    COLOR    AND    BLACK    AND    WHITE 
ILLUSTRATIONS   BY    FRANK    H.    DESCH. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


A  FASCINATING  DRAMATIC  NOVEL  OF  ACTION 

The  Winning  Chance 

By   ELIZABETH   DEJEANS 
Colored  Frontispiece.       izmo.      Cloth,   $1.50. 


'E  HAVE  no  hesitancy  in  pronouncing  this 
powerful  story  one  of  the  most  impressive 
studies  of  our  highly  nervous  American  life 
that  has  been  published  in  a  long  while.  It  is  written 
with  enormous  vitality  and  emotional  energy.  The 
grip  it  takes  on  one  intensifies  as  the  story  proceeds. 

A  young  Southern  girl  becomes  stenographer  to  a 
hard,  wilful  financier,  and  the  story  of  her  life  of  sacri 
fice  and  sorrow  is  human  and  appealing.  Leo  Varek, 
the  financier,  is  a  most  masterful  and  dramatic  character. 
His  strength  of  will  and  intellectual  power  are  irresistible. 
The  way  he  handles  his  big  problems  and  pays  his 
"heavy  toll"  is  unforgettable. 


CRITICAL    OPINIONS 

"  A  book  which  will  arouse  as  much  discussion  as  Eugene  Walter's 
play,  "The  Easiest  Way." — St.  Louis  Times. 

"  The  theme  of  the  book  involves  one  of  the  deepest  and  darkest 
tragedies  of  civilization — a  tragedy  that  should  ftrouse  a  nation  to  action." 

— Edwin  Markham. 

"  The  story  is  an  absorbing  one.  The  conflict  between  the  self-made 
man,  with  his  insurgent  vitality  and  egotism,  and  the  appealing  figure  of 
the  girl  is  convincingly  set  forth. " — JV.  Y.  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"A  story  of  compelling  interest,  but  handled  to  such  purpose  that 
while  the  hearts  of  all  who  read  it  will  be  moved  to  sympathy,  the  book 
carries  an  uplift." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Elizabeth  Dejeans  carries  her  readers  irresistibly  into  the  hearts  and 
lives  of  her  story's  people.  There  is  a  depth  of  human  interest  in  'The 
Winning  Chance  '  that  causes  one  to  turn  back  to  certain  chapters  after  the 
book  has  been  more  than  once  carefully  read." 

— Boston  Budget  and  Beacon. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-50m-4,'61(B8994s4)444 


Knapp  - 


1910 


Scales  of 
justice 


PS 


K731s 
1910 


A  000  923  587  o 


